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THE DEAD CALYPSO 
AND OTHER VERSES 



THE DEAD CALYPSO 
AND OTHER VERSES 



BY 



LOUIS ALEXANDER ROBERTSON 



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SAN FRANCISCO 

A. M. ROBERTSON 

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THE LI8«A«V OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two COPItS RECeiVED 

AUG. 12 1901 

C©»»VBIOHT ENT»y 

COPY 8. 



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19 (J I 



COPYRIGHT, 1901, 

BY 

LOUIS A. RORERTSON 



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The Murdock Press 
San Francisco 



WITH THE FOLLOWING LINES 
I INSCRIBE THIS LITTLE BOOK TO 

&anti0 UH. JFotman 



By Western Shores oft Triton blows 
His sounding shell ; and she who rose 
All wet and wanton from the deep. 
To make man's pulse with passion leap. 
Here on the wave in beauty glows. 

A herd upon the hillside lows. 
And where yon stream in music flows. 
There Pan is piping to his sheep. 
By Western Shores. 

Here vine-crowned Bacchus doth repose. 
And nymphs and satyrs, like to those 

Of Tempe, from the copses peep ; 

Why for the fabled Lotus v^^eep. 
When 'neath the Poppy we may doze. 
By Western Shores ? 



CONTENTS 

THE DEAD CALYPSO ...... 9 

THE SONNET ....... 1 7 

THROUGH PAINTED PANES . . . . . l8 

THE MAN IS NOTHING, THE WORK IS ALL . . 1 9 

EVOLUTION ........ 23 

ART 33 

THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE . . . .34 

THOU UNSEEN HARP . . . . . . 38 

THE WANDERER ....... 39 

DREAMS ........ 40 

WHEN DREAMS DERIDE . . . . . . 4I 

ICEBERG ........ 42 

HOVE-TO ........ 43 

THE CALIFORNIA REDWOODS ..... 44 

DIALECT VERSE ....... 45 

THE TUNELESS TYRO ...... 46 

THE REFORMED TRANSFORMED ..... 47 

JOB ......... 48 

THE lord's prayer ...... 49 

VIA CRUCIS ....... 50 

CHRISTMAS SONNET ....... 54 

THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN . . . . . 55 

THE ROCK OF AGES . . . . . .58 

THE NAZARENE ....... 59 



CONTENTS 



GOLGOTHA 




64 


TO THE UNKNOWN GOD 




66 


THE LORD OF HOSTS 




71 


HYMN TO FREEDOM 




72 


THE SECRET GRASP . 




11 


HAVOC 




78 


THE OLD YEAR 




84 


JUBILATE DEO 




85 


TENNYSON 




95 


BYRON 




96 


ON A PORTRAIT OF LUCIUS HARWOOD FOOTE 


97 


there's NOTHING LIKE 


THE OLD BALLADE 


98 


ON NEW year's eve 


• ••••• 


[02 


VIVE LA BAGATELLE 


• • • • • 


[03 


BIRTHDAY SONNET . 


. 


to5 


THE DEVOTEE 


• • • • • 


[06 


FRANCESCA 


• ••■•• 


108 


THROUGH JOYOUS YEARS 


• • • « • 


[09 


ADIEU d' AMOUR 




[lO 


ENGLAMOURED 


] 


II 


I LOVE THEE STILL 




[ 12 


THE SUPPLICANT 


. 


113 


THEA , 




[14 


WAIFS 


1 


ti5 


RUBRIC 


. ] 


[16 


IN ABSENCE 


. 


[17 


LOVE ME ONCE MORE 




[18 


THE IDOLATER . 


• • • • » 


[20 



CONTENTS 



WHEN LULU COMES 

VICTOR LOVE .... 

GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART 

THE TEMPTRESS .... 

THE KING IS dead; LONG LIVE THE KING 

VACILLATION .... 

THE friar's confession , 

THE MAENAD .... 

THE WEDDING-BELL . , , , 

A WHITED SEPULCHRE 

HEAVEN AND HELL , , , 

A SKETCH .... 

A CAROL OF THE CURSED , 

THE VAMPIRE .... 

IT 'S NOT THE DISTANCE, IT 's THE PACE, THAT KILLS 

MEDUSA ..... 

THE UNKNOWN LOVE , . . 

LONE MOUNTAIN 

WEARY 

PAIN 

ASHES 

COMPENSATION .... 

TEARS ...... 

ATAXIA ..... 

CONSOLATION .... 

OUT OF EGYPT .... 

THE LOOM ..... 



21 

22 
24 

25 
26 

28 

29 

31 

32 
42 

43 
52 
53 
58 

59 
63 

64 

65 
66 
68 
69 

72 

73 

74 
82 

83 
84 



THE DEAD CALYPSO 

Where be thy witcheries now, woman of won- 
derful beauty, 

Priestess of profligate love, passionless, pallid 
and still? 

Sweet was the soul-searing cult taught by thy 
liberal kisses. 

Sweeter the chalice of love formed by thy sen- 
suous mouth. 

Ripe as the rapturing grape, rich as the rose in 
its redness. 

But unto them that did drink fatal as waters 
of death. 

Left unto thee are the dregs, bitter and biting 
as wormwood. 

Freezing the blood in thy veins, leaving thee 
rigid and cold. 

9 



THE DEAD CALYPSO 

Strange that those lewd lava lips, once so alluring 
and mocking, 

Wear such an innocent smile, chaste as a maid- 
en's in sleep ! 

Nay, but they wither and change, livid they 
seem unto blueness, 

Shrunk in their soft silken skin, as when the 
tropical sun 

Drinking the life of the grape, leaves it aban- 
doned and shriveled. 

Gibbeted on its own vine, swinging like felon 
forgot. 

Almost again do I hear thy voice and its pas- 
sionate pleading. 

Soft as the musical moan of waves in a mur- 
muring shell. 

Luring and leading me on to a haven that shone 
like a heaven, 

lO 



THE DEAD CALYPSO 

Bright with a promise of peace, fair as a rhapso- 

dist's dream. 
Misted with halos of gold, yet but a vanishing 

splendor 
Miraged in exquisite grace over a desert of 

death. 

But when youth's passionate pulse pleads with 

its eager insistence, 
When the white waiting snows of the heart melt 

with the breath of the spring. 
When the clamoring currents of life leap with 

ineffable joyance. 
Where is the hand that can point to the channels 

through which they shall run, — 
Whether through vistas of peace, till lost in love's 

infinite ocean. 
Or on through dark intricate ways to mix with 

the silt of the sewer? 

II 



THE DEAD CALYPSO 

Dead is the light in thine eyes, yet recollection 

beholds them 
Mirrored like stars of the night in the face of a 

flood that is calm, 
Then losing themselves in the deep, when the 

breath of the gathering tempest 
Lashes the slumbering wave till it leaps to the 

lowering skies. 

Thus when thy senses were drowned in thy 
passion's exuberant triumph. 

Leaving the lures of thy lips have I looked on 
thy wondering eyes. 

Swooning away into white, as when the rays ot 
the morning 

Chase the black shadows of night back to their 
caverns of gloom. 

Oft have I seen them revolve, slowly and dream- 
ily turning 

12 



THE DEAD CALYPSO 

Into thy love-laden brain, there passion's secret 

to find ; 
Leaving their opaline orbs blind in the trance 

that enthralled them, 
Till the long kiss that I gave coaxed the lost 

irises back. 

Now, under curtains of wax, lustreless crescents 

of whiteness. 
Cold as the frost on the pane, hint of those 

rapturous hours. 
Where is their luminous gleam, which, like the 

treacherous beacons 
Lighted by wreckers to lure the mariner on to 

his doom, 
O'er life's unpiloted sea shone with a bale and a 

beauty. 
Till the poor credulous bark dashed on the rock 

of thy heart ? 

13 



THE DEAD CALYPSO 

Season of spring, when the blood quickened to 

life in the pulses. 
And, murmuring, sighed with delight and laughed 

at the prospect of death ! 
Summer that seethed in the veins, with its 

grapes growing richer and redder, 
Till in a wine-press of sorrow the dregs of the 

vintage were found ! 
When all thy sepulchred past, on the rack of an 

exquisite passion. 
Gave up its secrets of old in thy voiceless but 

voluble vows ; 
Then to thy lust-leavened lips rose the lees of a 

thousand caresses 
That artifice could not disguise, nor fraud into 

fealty frame. 

Swiftly the meshes of silk were spun into steel, 
but I lingered, 

14 



THE DEAD CALYPSO 

Fondling the fetters I feared, yet fearing to fling 

them away. 
Lost to the lips I had loved, yet with the thirst 

of a drunkard 
Draining the draught that enslaved, e'en while 

the spirit recoiled. 
Day after day, as the scales fell from mine eyes, 

I beheld thee. 
Garbed in the glamour of lust, rise from the 

ashes of love ; 
Night after night, though thy beauty oft baffled 

my fears and beguiled me. 
Soon every sigh seemed to breathe naught but a 

sibilant hiss. 
Or but the laugh of a fiend that rang in mine 

ears till I left thee, 
To come at the last and to lay the lips that 

forgive on thy brow. 



15 



THE DEAD CALYPSO 

Long, long ago, in the past, did the daughters 

of earth, with their beauty, 
Lure from the heavens above the white-pinioned 

Children of God ; 
Why should I wonder that thou, O fairest and 

frailest of women. 
Didst with thy sorceries bind the souls and the 

bodies of men? 

Where are thy worshipers now, they who did 

pant to embrace thee ? 
Where is the homage they poured once in those 

death-deafened ears ? 
Where is the word that could waken thee now, 

O voluptuous sleeper. 
Or the gold that could bribe thee to break thy 

last lover's lethal embrace? 



i6 



THE SONNET 

As OFTEN in some grand and ancient fane 
A devotee will kneel him down to pray 
At one familiar shrine day after day. 

And to his guardian saint his woes complain; 

There, while his fingers tell the beaded chain, 
His soul in ecstasy drifts far away. 

Till back returning with the vesper strain, 
It enters once again its home of clay. 

So in the cloistered corridors of song 

There is one altar where I love to kneel ; 

Though humblest of the worshipers who throng 
Its narrow space, yet there I often steal. 

And in the Sonnet's sacred chalice pour 

My tears and sighs until I weep no more. 



17 



THROUGH PAINTED PANES 

(rondeau) 

Through painted panes a glory flows, 

And over aisle and altar throws 

Soft floods of crimson, blue, and gold, 
Till silent forms, in sculpture stoled. 

Seem waking from a long repose. 

Ah, how the tinted marble glows ! 
For every cheek now wears a rose. 
And each white face seems aureoled 

Through painted panes. 

These weird word-weavers who disclose 

Strange things to us in rhyme or prose, 

Who conjure up the dead and cold. 

Or Life's great varied page unfold. 

Their art is but a light that shows 

Through painted panes. 
i8 



THE MAN IS NOTHING, THE WORK 

IS ALL 

(double ballade) 

This world is but a noisy show, 

A mighty, motley masquerade. 
Where countless actors come and go, 

A tragedy and gasconade. 

Where many puzzling parts are played ; 
Till curtained with Death's dusty pall. 

And in Time's testing balance weighed. 
The man is nothing, the work is all. 

19 



THE MAN IS NOTHING, THE WORK IS ALL 

Forward they press, both high and low, 

And rich and poor, and gay and staid; 
Some climb where Fame's fair mountains glow. 

While others grovel in the glade ; 

But when, at last, the sexton's spade 
Hath built the bed to which they crawl. 

When requiems roll and prayers are prayed. 
The man is nothing, the work is all. 



Though rivers red as crimson flow 

Beneath the shot-torn barricade ; 
Though on the clay of fallen foe 

Thrones have been reared with reeking blade ; 

Still war is but a sorry trade. 
And often but a murderous brawl ; 

For even Glory's gleam will fade, — 
The man is nothing, the work is all. 



20 



THE MAN IS NOTHING, THE WORK IS ALL 

Fate*s shuttle flashes to and fro, 
And many curious webs are made ; 

For Fortune may her smile bestow. 

And light some dullard through the shade 
To where Fame's glittering prize is paid ; 

While Genius oft doth drink Life's gall. 
Of flouting Fortune unafraid, — 

The man is nothing, the work is all. 



In vilest soil the seed may grow. 

For many a living germ hath strayed 
Where sower never meant to sow ; 

The heart of reckless renegade 

Hath been ere this a shrine where swayed 
Truth's sacred censer, letting fall 

The spark, oft slighted, oft obeyed, — 
The man is nothing, the work is all. 



21 



THE MAN IS NOTHING, THE WORK IS ALL 

To some misleading guides we owe 
Lights that have made us retrograde ; 

While others up Time's ramparts throw 
For us a shining escalade, 
By which we shall at last invade 

Truth's glorious and eternal hall ; 
Or fair, or foul, in Life's crusade. 

The man is nothing, the work is all. 



ENVOY 



Whene'er we glory or upbraid 

The good or bad, the great or small, 

This maxim may our judgment aid, — 
The man is nothing, the work is all. 



22 



EVOLUTION 

Mystical Dream of Creation ! 
Problem of Dark Evolution 1 
Tell us the world's early story, 
Life's hidden secret unfold. 
Vain is each wild speculation, 
Groping in gloom for solution. 

Enough that from darkness sprang glory, 
Sunrise in crimson and gold. 

23 



EVOLUTION 

Mounting the stream of the ages. 
Up to its sources of mystery. 
Threading its channels uncertain. 
What, after all, have we won ? 
Blank were the world's early pages. 
Buried in myth was its history. 
Long after earth's misty curtain 
Glowed with the light of the sun. 



Still in the quarried tradition, 
Still in the ice-graven story. 
Still in the rock-written fable, 
Linger the throes of thy birth ; 
Marking thy growth and transition. 
Back in the centuries hoary. 
Legends that teach and enable 

Thy children to know thee, O Earth 

24 



EVOLUTION 

Nebulous waif of obscurity, 

On through immensity stealing, 
Wandering child of the forces. 

Dropped from the matrix of night ; 
Fashioning thyself to maturity, 
Sphering and fusing, annealing. 

Through the dark centuries' courses. 
Drifting along to the light. 



Chaos all order confounding. 
Yet ever silently speeding 
On with instinctive elusion. 
Steadily holding thy way ; 
Darkness primeval abounding, 

Down through the aeons unheeding. 
Still amid murky confusion 
Blundering on to the day. 

25 



EVOLUTION 

Thundered a mandate through heaven, 
" Let there be light," and the vapors. 
Losing themselves in the ocean. 
Mingled again with the deep ; 
Then followed morning and even. 
Night lit her pale distant tapers, 
Order was born of commotion. 
Earth was awakened from sleep. 



Laboring in primal gestation. 
Life in its forms multifarious. 
Eager to meet the sun's kisses. 
Leaped in her womb with delight ; 
Weary of long nidulation. 

Up from their wallows lutarious. 
Up from their darksome abysses. 

Swarmed the strange brood of the night, 

26 



EVOLUTION 

Life in fantastic variety, 

Breeding and battling and dying, 
Struggling for very existence, 

Rending with fang and with nail ; 
Death, never gorged with satiety. 
Over the massacre flying, 

Blind to the light in the distance. 
Deaf to the song in the gale. 



Type against type for survival. 

Through the long ages contending, 
All for supremacy striving, 

Man, as the master, they own ; 
Brute of the brutes, without rival. 
Up from the conflict ascending. 
Scheming, coercing, contriving. 
Building the steps to his throne. 

27 



EVOLUTION 

Fatuous child of mortality. 
Swaddled in dark superstition, 

Groping thy way through obscurity. 
Stumbling, but stumbling to rise ; 
Casting aside animality. 

Girding thyself with ambition. 
Fearlessly facing futurity, 

Scaling the steeps of the skies. 



Race against race for dominion. 
Creed against creed for conviction. 

Throne against throne for subversion. 
Moving like puppets at play ; 
Battling to force an opinion. 
Bleeding to follow a fiction. 
Dying with instant reversion. 
To mingle again in the fray. 

28 



EVOLUTION 

Many a crimson libation, 
Poured on barbarian altars 
Freer and faster than water, 

Purples thy triumph with shame ; 
Many a lurid oblation. 

Smoking to priest-prated psalters. 
Many a monster of slaughter 
Fiddling a kingdom to flame. 



Many a Moloch of cruelty. 
Many a Tophet infernal, 
Hope, after gory baptism. 
Flung to the funeral pyre ; 
But with death-scorning credulity. 
Pluming its pinions eternal. 

Up from the murderous abysm, 
Springing like phoenix from fire. 

29 



EVOLUTION 

Dross of the brute disappearing, 
Lost in the burning purgation, 
Leaving the spirit less weighted. 
Less overburdened with clay ; 
On to the light ever faring, 
Toiling in endless gradation, 

Lower to higher translated, 
Rising from darkness to day. 



Many a sacred Thermopylae 
Hurling defiance at slavery ; 
Many a crucified martyr 
Dying for love of his kind ; 
Tyranny, kingcraft, monopoly. 
Yielding to justice and bravery. 
Liberty's blood-blazoned charter 
Many a despot hath signed. 

30 



EVOLUTION 

Many a conquest of Science 
Shaming the warrior*s sabre ; 
Many a triumph of morals, 

Wisdom and Mercy and Love ; 
Many a blade of defiance 

Forged to the ploughshare of labor ; 
Many a chaplet of laurels 

Wreathed with the olive above. 



Height after height thou hast taken, 

Yet there are others remaining, 

Far in the pure empyrean 

Truth's shining battlements rise ; 
Scale them with courage unshaken. 
Death and disaster disdaining. 
Storm them with jubilant paean. 
Capture the gates of the skies. 

31 



EVOLUTION 

Then shall all ills of mortality 
Unto thy wisdom surrender ; 

Knowledge supreme and supernal, 
Leaving no summit to scale; 
Truth, in her white-robed reality. 
Opening her portals of splendor. 
Yielding her treasures eternal. 
Lifting Obscurity's veil. 



32 



ART 

Thou breathest on the cold insensate stone, 

And lo ! it throbs with immortality ; 
The canvas, with thy conjuring pigments strown. 

Glows with a beauty that will never die ; 

The deepest fountains of the heart run dry. 
When o'er the trembling strings thy hand is 
thrown. 

And when we hear thy tongue's rich sorcery. 
We know not why we laugh, or weep, or moan. 

We know not why, nor do we care to know 
Where rise the waters of that mystic stream 

Whose current bears us onward in its flow. 
Till, all unconscious of the clay, we seem 

To feel the breath of an ambrosial breeze. 

And drift far, far away o'er sapphire seas. 



33 



THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU 

FREE 

(double ballade) 

Since we, like all before, 

Must quickly pass away, 
'T is idle to deplore, 

Or weep above decay ; 

Since all who breathe obey 
And bend to Fate's decree. 

This promise be your stay, — 
The Truth shall make you free. 

34 



THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE 

This freedom bought with gore, 

These shrines at which you pray. 
Your books with all their lore, 

Do they the gift convey ? 

The centuries answer. Nay, 
But all the years to be 

Roll back an echoing Yea, 
The Truth shall make you free. 



To gloomy gods of yore 

Why adoration pay ? 
Zeus, Isis, Buddha, Thor, 

All pass like common clay ; 

Before the brightening day 
Their night-born shadows flee. 

Till under Reason's sway 
The Truth shall make you free. 

35 



THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE 

Ah, cruel to the core. 

The creeds that once did slay ; 
When rack with torture tore. 

Or red auto-da-fe 

Did 'round its victims play ; 
A martyred Christ their plea 

To brand and burn and flay, — 
The Truth shall make you free. 



Though Superstition hoar. 
With all the ages gray. 

Should bid you tread once more 
The paths that lead astray. 
You *11 never gang a-gley 

For beldams such as she ; 
Nous avons tout change\ 

The Truth shall make you free. 

36 



THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE 

When cannon cease to roar. 
When bugles cease to bray, 

When nations never war, 
When all your skies display 
One circling rainbow ray, 

*Round every land and sea, 
Earth*s sister stars shall say 

The Truth hath made you free. 



ENVOY 



Her temple stands for aye. 
There boldly bend the knee ; 

She speaks not to betray, — 

The Truth shall make you free. 



37 



THOU UNSEEN HARP 

Thou Unseen Harp, that hangest in the skies, 
Chorded with beams that stretch from star to 

star. 
Thy deep vibrations reach me from afar. 
For every mighty string in music sighs 
Till night's dark dome is filled with symphonies. 
O starry midnight hymns ! to me ye are 
A comfort and a hope ; no cloud shall bar 
Nor dawn defraud me of the faith that flies 
On climbing wing across the bridgeless night. 
To where the din and discord of the day 
Can never reach. Dear faces that I know. 
And sweet familiar words, my soul invite. 
Till all forgotten is the shackling clay 

That binds me to this troublous scene below. 



38 



THE WANDERER 

The old cathedral bells sound sweet and clear, 
And as I listen to their well-known peal 
A thousand thronging recollections steal 

Across the gulf of many a vanished year. 

At last I stand a wayworn wanderer 

Within Thy temple, God, and almost feel 
The presence of the dead, and as I kneel 

Sweet angel voices mingle with my prayer. 

The bells are hushed ; the mighty organ rolls 
Majestic music through the gloomy fane ; 

A happy chorus of triumphant souls 

With hallelujahs swell the sacred strain ; 

A light celestial fills my streaming eyes, 

A Jacob's ladder reaching to the skies. 



39 



DREAMS 

Thou Shoreless Sea, I love thy murmuring song 
That soothes to slumber with its drowsy strain ; 
O'er thy wide waters drifts the helmless brain, 
Manned with fantastic phantoms that belong 
To Sleep's weird world, and which around me 
throng, 
Till with the dawning day their shadows wane. 
To bind them on this page with inky chain, 
'T would need an art as apt, a pen as strong 
As his who drew that mighty mutineer. 
Who 'gainst the God of Heaven did rebel. 
Then from those ramparts plunged forever- 
more. 
Or his who trod the regions of despair 

With Virgil's shade, and did their depths 
explore. 
And calmly talked with monstrous shapes 

in hell. 

40 



WHEN DREAMS DERIDE 

(rondeau) 

When dreams deride, and Fancy's train 
Throngs to enthrone her in the brain ; 
When Reason, ruler of the day. 
Her sober sceptre down doth lay. 
To leave her sister free to reign : 

Then Memory builds a wondrous fane. 
Her organ rolls a mimic strain, 

And through the Past*s dim aisles I stray. 

When dreams deride. 

Ah, fictioned fabric ! it were vain 
Thy weird devotions to explain ; 
Oft in thy shadowy shrine I pray 
That sleep might steal my soul away 
Some morn before thy cloisters wane. 

When dreams deride. 
41 



ICEBERG 

Launched on the bleak waste of the polar sea. 
Where fitful borealis splendors shine, 
How like thou art to some majestic shrine, 

Drifting in silence to its destiny ! 

O frozen, floating minster ! over thee 
The sunset throws a glory half divine ; 
Spellbound we wonder at thy chaste design. 

And in a rapture almost bend the knee. 

We seem to hear a pealing anthem roll 
Across the surface of the moaning tide. 

And from thy spires a solemn requiem toll. 
As on to dissolution thou dost glide. 

Cradled where rolls the dark, cold arctic wave. 

To find at last in tropic seas a grave. 



42 



HOVE-TO 

Baffled, but bravely, like a stag at bay. 
She faced the driving gale and angry sea ; 
Under short canvas and with helm a-lee, 

Hove-to, upon the starboard tack, she lay. 

And looked into the wind's wild eye that day ; 
Over the great green rolling billows she 
Rode like a storm-bird, and did seem to be 

A mist-born phantom rising from the spray. 

Her tightened weather-shrouds rang like a lyre. 
Swept by the furious storm-king as he passed ; 

Wild ocean wraiths wailed in the thundering 
choir, 
A thousand demons shrieked in every blast ; 

Yet better thus to battle with the gale. 

Than drift o'er glassy seas with listless sail. 

43 



THE CALIFORNIA REDWOODS 

Ere over Nilus* waking wave the strain 

Of Memnon*s morning melody was blown ; 

Ere Cheops from his quarries clove the stone 
And piled his pyramid on Egypt's plain ; 
And later — ere the God-projected fane 

Of Solomon had into grandeur grown ; 

Before the glory of the Greek was known, 
Or Romulus the she-wolPs dugs did drain ; 

We stood in youth where now in age we stand, 
Colossal types of Life, that closer climb 
To clasp the stars, than any living thing. 
Ye cherish crumbling temples that were planned 
In Dian's day, yet deem it not a crime 
Our older glory in the dust to fling. 



44 



DIALECT VERSE 

I LIKE not overmuch the verse that 's set 

In the rough rustic language of the hind ; 

Though here and there a fragrant bud we find 
Hidden among such weeds. The violet, 
Blue as the skies, with dewy crystals wet, 

With rankest growths hath often been entwined; 
But Art could never thus herself forget, 

As in one wreath the fair and foul to bind. 

The poor provincial's patois may be strong 
With the rude eloquence that stirs the soul ; 

But when in raucous rhyme, or senseless song. 
The uncouth verbs and nouns together roll 

In tangled tropes — then must I turn away. 

And let the yokel's sponsor have his say. 



45 



THE TUNELESS TYRO 

A SLEEPING moth upon a window-pane 

May hide the brightest star that lights the 
gloom ; 

A buzzing insect in a quiet room 
May drown the thunder of the distant main ; 
The fetid, fen-fed breezes may profane 

The fragrance of the fairest buds that bloom ; 

So Art's antitheses do sometimes loom 
Large for a moment, then — to nothing wane. 

Poor Tuneless Tyro ! with the clod-clogged 
feet, — 
Groaning beneath an overwhelming weight 
Of bad bucolics, — thou wilt linger long 
At Fame's closed portals, and there vainly bleat 
Thy socialistic sermons ; for that gate 

Yields only to the voice of deathless song. 

46 



THE REFORMED TRANSFORMED 

Oft have I seen the drunkard full arrayed 

In all the rigor of the Rechabite, 

Walking with face uplifted to the light, 
Sure in the conquest that his soul hath made ; 
Oft have I seen the resolution fade 

From out his eyes, and marked in them the 
blight 

Of baffled purpose, as the fiends of night 
Shrieked to recall the righteous renegade. 

Oh ! when I see the lips that Time hath taught 
To triumph o'er the banished bane begin 
To palter with the poison, then I say 
That he who knows the dice are loaded ought 
To murmur never if he fail to win 

When Satan with him for his soul doth play. 



47 



JOB 

Majestic Mourner ! when thy spirit moaned 
Itself to music on thy wondrous page; 

When thy great sorrowing soul in anguish 
groaned, 
And when Fate flung to thee her galling gage, 
Oh ! what a soul-sustaining heritage 

Was hidden in the fortitude that owned 
How vain and weak it were a war to wage 

With Him, the Lord, who sits in heaven 
enthroned. 

Thy flesh was fed to foulness. Sorrow clad 

Thy soul with sackcloth, and thy forehead 

frowned 

With the black ashes of a heart consumed ; 

But through it all, O Man of Uz, thy sad 

But sure philosophy thy trials crowned 

With perfect peace that out of patience 

bloomed. 

48 



THE LORD^S PRAYER 

Our Heavenly Father, unto Thee we pour 
Our constant prayers, and bless Thy hallowed 

Name ! 
Come in Thy kingdom, God, and now pro- 
claim 
The age of peace to last forevermore. 
In every land, from distant shore to shore. 

Through all the earth Thy blessed will be 

done. 
As where, in heaven, before Thy shining 
throne. 
Thy saints and seraphs ceaselessly adore. 

Give us, O God, each day our daily bread ; 

Forgive us now, as others we forgive ; 
Guide our weak feet that they may never tread 

Temptation's paths, and teach us how to live. 
That, by Thy power, we from the tomb shall rise 
And share Thy glorious kingdom in the skies. 

49 



VIA CRUCIS 

Thou thorn-crowned God of Glory ! 

Rejected Nazarene ! 
I often read Thy story, 

And linger o'er each scene, 
Till, with rapt wonder gazing, 

Mine eyes behold afar. 
Above Thy cradle blazing. 

The Magi's pilot star. 

50 



VIA CRUCIS 

Back through the night of ages 

I tread the faith-lit way, 
And with the seers and sages 

My adoration pay. 
With them I kneel and ponder 

Why Thou foredoomed shouldst be 
Through all Thy life to wander. 

But always toward the tree. 



The distant, dismal rafter 

Did o'er Thy childhood throw 
A shadow which thereafter 

Stood forth a cross of woe ; 
No sound of mirth or gladness 

Was heard through all Thy years ; 
Thy life was full of sadness, 

Thy cup was filled with tears. 

51 



VIA CRUCIS 

Yet in Thy love revealing 

A mercy all could claim, 
Sustaining, cheering, healing 

The sick, the blind, the lame ; 
Consoling and forgiving. 

Thy hands above them spread,- 
O Lips that cheered the living ! 

O Voice that waked the dead ! 



Yet sorrow was Thy guerdon. 

And grief was ever near. 
And mindful of the burden 

That Thou wert doomed to bear. 
Through gathering gloom extended 

Thy path of pain, until 
Thy bleeding footsteps wended 

Up Calvary's dark hill. 

52 



VIA CRUCIS 

Through darkness there directing 

The way that Thou must go, 
Its shadow still reflecting 

Along Thy path of woe, 
The ancient auguration, 

Fulfilled, at last doth rise 
In black-sparred consummation. 

To lift Thee to the skies. 



Thy breaking heart presages 

The end that now is nigh ; 
But soon, O Light of Ages 

And Dayspring from on high. 
Through clouds of glory cleaving. 

Thy soul shall find the light. 
Behind Thee ever leaving 

Darkness and death and night. 

53 



CHRISTMAS SONNET 

Faith-founded Vision of the Manger, rise 
In all thy humble glory and unfold 
Time's dusty leaves, until thy page of gold 

Shines through the ages on our wondering eyes. 

From out the starry silence of the skies 
A mighty flood of harmony is rolled, 
Once more the song is sung, the story told. 

And cradled on the earth a Saviour lies. 

What priests and prophets did with faith foretell. 
We, looking backward, with clear eyes can see 
The thorn-crowned God forsake His throne 
above ; 
We hear the chorus, but we hear as well 
The midnight moan in dark Gethsemane, 
And sink overwhelmed beneath His bound- 
less love. 

54 



THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN 

A WHISPERED prayer, a stone with reverent hand 
Laid near a cross that on a cairn doth stand, — 
This and no more ; no fragrant buds to wreathe 
A garland for the silent dead beneath ; 
No requiem rolling on the desert air 
To guide us to the lonely sleeper there ; 
No rudely written legend to proclaim 
His birth, his death, his country, age, or name ; 
Yet never vault, from dark Machpelah's cave. 
Where Israel's primal Patriarch found a grave ; 
Nor yet the dome that Artemisia raised 
O'er Caria's king, at which a world amazed 
In wonder stood ; nor Gizeh's gloomy pile. 
Housing the haughtiest Pharaoh by the Nile ; 
Nor sacred shrine, nor quiet cloistered fane, 
Wherein the proudest dust of earth hath lain, 

55 



THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN 

E*er sent a softer slumber than these stones 
That shelter from the sun a wanderer's bones. 

The prayers we pray, our dirges of distress, 
'Neath carven arch, or in the wilderness, 
What are they to the dead ? Oh, who can say 
Where the dread Spoiler pauses, — if the clay 
Alone surrenders to his blighting breath, 
Or whether down the sombre stream of death. 
The spirit, drifting into darkness, dies. 
As did this flesh beneath these burning skies ? 

It is not so ! The Symbol that doth keep 

Its lonely vigil on yon stony heap 

Is eloquent, and tells of Him who first 

Did through Death's black, unbroken barriers 

burst ; 
Of Him on whom a world hath learnt to lean. 
And from the darkest hours of grief to glean 

56 



THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN 

The Hope that helps when other comforts fail, 
The Faith that falters not before the veil, 
The Love that prays — in every Christian land. 
When in the presence of the dead we stand — 
That though the dreamless dust may never wake, 
The soul may somewhere see the morning break. 



57 



THE ROCK OF AGES 

I AM the Babe that in the manger lay. 

The mystic offspring of the mother-maid ; 
I am the Christ whose pale and suffering clay 

Was the great price for man's salvation paid ; 

I am the God to whom a world has prayed 
For nineteen hundred years. I am the Way, 

The Truth, the Life, the comfort and the stay. 
To whom despairing mortals look for aid. 

Faith-faggots, kindled in the furious light 

Of bigot hate, like wrecking beacons gleam 

Across the crimson waves that beat Time's 

shore ; 

But through the wildest storm and darkest night 

I stand the Rock of Ages, and My beam 

Leadeth and saveth those whose hearts are 

pure. 

58 



THE NAZARENE 

A MANGER-CRADLED Child, His mother near. 
And one they call His father standing by. 
Shepherds and Magi, with the gifts they bear. 
An angel-chorus rolling through the sky, — 
Once more the sacred mystery we scan, 
And wonder if the Christ be God's best gift to 
man. 



Pale, patient Pleader for the poor and those 
Whose hearts are homes of sorrow and of 
pain. 
Thy voice is as a balm for all their woes ; 

Through twenty centuries it calleth plain 
As when it breathed the invitation blest, — 
Ye weary, come to Me, and I will give you rest. 

59 



THE NAZARENE 

We mark Thy miracles, but would not bring 

Them to the test of Reason's crucible. 
What profit were it such full faith to fling 
To unbelief's wild winds? Oh, who can 
tell 
The sacred secrets hidden by the veil 
That Reason cannot rend nor mortal man assail ? 



Why should we doubt that Thou didst walk 
the wave, 
That Thou didst still the storm on Galilee, 

That Thou didst summon Lazarus from his 
grave. 
Or mad*st the leper clean, the blind to see ? 
Oh, for the faith that hath the power to burn 
Bright through these skeptic mists, though Reason 
from it turn ! 



60 



THE NAZARENE 

But most we love Thee for the voice that 
blessed 
The little children when they came to Thee, 
And for the human heart within Thy breast 

That beat for all, but bled for misery ; 
And for the hand stretched down in love to 
greet. 
That lifted back to life the woman of the street. 



For things like these our hearts can under- 
stand, — 
All, all is human, nothing doth beguile ; 
But Thy great deeds such credence do demand 

That Faith and Reason fail to reconcile. 
Is that within our breasts a fabled hope ? 
Oh, leave it undisturbed, lest in the gloom we 
grope ! 

6i 



THE NAZARENE 

Fond fictions of our faith ! though Science turn 
Her searchlight on the past, and Reason 
scorn, 
What comfort give they when the soul doth 
yearn 
For that pure peace that passeth all things 
born 
Of human knowledge ? Then Thy mystic birth. 
Thy life, Thy love. Thy death declare Thy 
saving worth. 

Then let the wrecking infidel proclaim 

His creedless course o'er Life's uncertain sea. 

What knows he of the faith that Thou didst 

frame. 

That falters not to face eternity ? 

The grave, his gloomy goal, is but a door 

Through which we pass to life, as Thou didst 

pass before. 

62 



THE NAZARENE 

Reason may seek to ruin, Science scorn, 

But that great love of Thine hath made us 
wise 
In wisdom not of understanding born. 

That bids us turn to Thee with longing eyes 
And outstretched hands. We know that Thou 

art He, 
Nor do we seek a sign, as did the Pharisee. 



Sweet festival that bringeth back once more 

The golden dreams of childhood, let us turn 
Like little children to the Christmas lore 
That once did hold us spellbound, till we 
learn ^ 

Again the lesson of Thy love ; for we 
Must be like children. Lord, ere we can come to 
Thee. 

63 



GOLGOTHA 

(a sonnet of the cross) 

Morn hid her face, and day was backward rolled, 
Mysterious rumblings shook the sacred hill. 
In ghastly wonder there, shrouded and chill. 

Uprose the dead, Christ's passing to behold ; 

Waked stalkers, from your couches in the mould 
Weird miracles ye saw, portending ill ; 

God's days of flesh were o'er. His moments told, 
A prayer groaned through His lips, then all 
was still. 

His crown of thorns. His bleeding hands and 
feet. 
That fatal drain sped by the soldier's spear, 
A fountain whence Mercy's encrimsoned tide 

64 



GOLGOTHA 

Flows free to all ; one short forgiving prayer. 
Then soared His soul ; man's ransom was 
complete, 
The world's great price was paid when 
Christos died. 



The Saviour's last words, " My God ! My God ! why hast Thou forsaken me ? " 
with the exception of the word " why " are woven into the above sonnet, in regular 
order, and form a cross. As only twenty-eight letters could be used, the word referred 
to was omitted. 

Begin with the first letter of the first line, then the second of the second, the third 
of the third, and so on up to the fourteenth of the fourteenth; then the first of the 
fourteenth, the second of the thirteenth, and back in like manner to the fourteenth of 
the first. 



6s 



TO THE UNKNOWN GOD 

Supreme, Unknown, whom yet we trace 
But dimly through a darkened glass, 
When shall the mists that hide Thee pass. 

And we behold Thee face to face ? 

For countless ages we have trod 
The lower trails that lead to Thee ; 
Now on the distant heights we see 

The banners of the hosts of God. 

A thousand gods have we confessed. 
And warped our worship age by age. 
Creed blotting creed from off the page. 

An ever-changing palimpsest. 

66 



TO THE UNKNOWN GOD 

Long through the gloom Thy skies we scanned,- 
We cried to Thee, but Thou wert dumb ; 
Yet Faith oft heard a whispered " Come/' 

And Fancy felt a guiding hand. 

Confirming our audacious guess, 

Thy lightnings clove the clouds and seemed 
To write amen to all we dreamed, 

Thy crashing thunders answered Yes. 

Altars and fanes to Thee we raised, 
Built on one vague but constant hope. 
That taught us through the gloom to grope. 

While on the silent stars we gazed. 

We searched the skies for Thee, then turned 

The glass upon the atom, till 

We saw the life within it thrill 
To clasp the mightiest star that burned. 

67 



TO THE UNKNOWN GOD 

Life yearning unto Life — the spark 
Within the seed that bursts the sod 
Claims kindred with an unknown God, 

But never leaps the bridgeless dark. 

Hope crying in the gloom, a child 
Amid strange lights and shadows lost, 
'Twixt doubt and fear perplexed and tossed, 

By any whispered word beguiled. 

Unfaltering Faith may seek to tear 
And sweep the baffling veil aside ; 
We know not if the dead deride 

Her efforts, but the living hear 

Death laughing ever at her creed. 
Blighting each promise ere it bloom. 
Till all the past seems but a tomb. 

And every hope a broken reed. 

68 



TO THE UNKNOWN GOD 

A tomb ! a broken reed ! Ah no ! 
We die, but dying leave behind 
That which may teach us yet to find 

Where Life's immortal waters flow. 

A thousand ages yet unborn. 

Pregnant with promises that cast 
Their beams before, may bring at last 

The birth-blaze of the coming morn. 

Within the growing light we fade 
With all the things of yesterday 
That swift-paced Progress flings away. 

Or Science scoffs into the shade. 

Or as the scattered fragments fly 
Beneath the Builder's hand, so we 
Fall from the fabric that shall be 

A temple lifted to the sky. 

69 



TO THE UNKNOWN GOD 

Or is it Babel that we build 

Age after age upon our dead ? 

And is our faith a fiction fed 
On dreams as vain as those that filled 

The sons of Noah when they toiled 
And piled the tower on Shinar*s plain ? 
Oh ! is the hope we cherish vain, 

And at the last shall we be foiled ? 

Nay, when far future years have passed, 
Our lives shall not have been for naught ; 
For, out of bleak oblivion brought. 

We shall behold Thy face at last. 



70 



THE LORD OF HOSTS 

Figment of hoary myth and outworn creed, 
Born of the thunder-peal and blazing rift 
That lighted earth's dark dawn, to Thee we lift 

Our hands and cry for succor as we bleed. 

Jove and Jehovah, Allah, Mars, and Thor, 
All held the cloudy throne where now we kneel 
To beg Thy blessing on the flashing steel 

That lights our legions through the mists of war. 

Alas ! we linger still in Janus* fane. 

And watch the twin-faced god glare east and 
west, 
While Mammon mocks the Martyr on the 
Tree. 
The angel seen by shepherds on the plain 

Comes once again, but comes in armor dressed, 
The herald of a darker deity. 

71 



HYMN TO FREEDOM 

Blood-bought, and yet the price was freely 
paid, 

As many a crimsoned battle-field could tell ; 

And thunder tread of war, and clash of blade. 

And the glad clanging birth-song of a bell ; 

Then one bright torch that blazed above the 

gloom. 

As Liberty leaped forth and sealed Oppression's 

doom. 

The grit and grandeur of the men who poured 

Their blood to buy this priceless heritage, — 

They whose quick hands ne'er trifled with the 

sword. 

Nor trembled when they signed the chartered 

page, 

Sleep in the soil they saved, and yet they rise 

And look on us to-day with stern demanding 

eyes. 

72 



HYMN TO FREEDOM 

^ What were it worth, this birthright of the free. 
If we, as careless keepers of the trust. 
The byword of a world at last should be ? 
Ye glib-tongued sophists! shall our sabres 
rust? 

Beware, ye Babel-builders, lest these towers 
That climb to kiss the stars, should fall when 
Treason glowers ! 



What can we claim, when in the scales of God 

We throw the patriot prestige of the past ? 
Our fathers' blood, long silent in the sod. 
Begins to mourn; yea, though wc now 
should cast 
Into the balance every deathless name 
That lights our sacred scroll, 't would light us to 
our shame. 



73 



HYMN TO FREEDOM 

If we, as watchers of a nation's fate, 

While all our skies above are rainbow- 
spanned. 
Forget the stealthy foe within our gate. 

Or the broad, rugged creed our fathers 
planned. 
What is it worth, this liberty we boast. 
While rank Corruption's growth spreads thick 
from coast to coast. 



While perjured politicians with a bait 

Of luring lies ensnare a people's vote. 
While journalistic scavengers can freight 

With filth the sheets that through the 
country float, 
While Justice weeps to see upon her throne 
A bought and bloated thing that boodlers boldly 
own? 



74 



HYMN TO FREEDOM 

For less than this methinks the hero clay 
That stood our bulwark oft against the 
foe 
Would rise to save its country from decay, 

Did not this deadly upas o'er it grow ; 
Shame be it that its poisoned branches spread 
Their blasting shade above the soil that holds 
such dead ! 



What time a deadlier devastating blight 
Than this or any country ever knew 
Dared lift its ghastly features to the light, 
A milHon blades 'round Freedom's banner 
drew. 
Now let Corruption check these dastard hordes. 
Or soon the grass we tread will glisten into 
swords. 



75 



HYMN TO FREEDOM 

Then, slumber on, ye brave, and have no fear ; 
We stand beside our watch-fires, and our 
eyes. 
Fixed on God's changeless stars, see, shining 
clear. 
The light that saves. Yea, we shall realize 
The faith-framed fabric of your morning dream, 
And clasp the captured grail that guides us with 
its gleam. 



For, as our fathers did, we turn to Thee, 

Great God of Nations, and we rest secure ; 
Our eyes behold across Time's troublous sea, 

A pharos flaming high above the roar 
Of bafHing tempest and of changing tide, — 
Triumphant type that tells of wrecking storms 
defied. 



76 



THE SECRET GRASP 

These mongrel miscreants from o'er the sea 
Would any country, any cause betray. 
As witness our own civil war, when they 
In scores of thousands from the flag did flee. 
Let everlasting shame be ours if we 

Should in one balance their black perjuries 

weigh 
'Gainst England's friendship ! Shall we thus 
repay 
The mighty service rendered us, when she 
Stretched forth her arm and held the world aloof 
While, with a secret grasp and whispered word. 
She strained Neutrality's stern laws and gave 
Of blood and brotherhood such sterling proof. 
That Europe's marshaled millions never stirred. 
Though Spain cried loud to them for help 
to save ? 

77 



HAVOC 

Wait till these ragged vagabonds now swarming 

o'er the land 
Are clothed and fed, and drilled and led, and feel 

the guiding hand 

Of some clear-headed leader, born upon the 

battle-field. 
Some new Napoleon of the West, whose iron 

hand can wield 

The sceptre equal with the sword, some daring 

son of Mars, 
Some hero of a hundred fights, who laughs at 

death and scars ; 

78 



HAVOC 

Wait till his marching myriads come, poor vaga- 
bonds no more, 

But every one a soldier trained, a dog of death 
and war. 

Straining until the leash is slipped, these human 

hounds of hell. 
Armed to the teeth, crime in their hearts, rushing 

with angry yell 

Down on your crowded cities there, where loot 

and beauty stand 
Easy to pluck, like ripened fruit, by any daring 

hand. 

Nay, smile not in derision, for be sure that day 

will come, — 
You '11 see their bayonets glitter, you '11 hear 

their rolling drum. 

79 



HAVOC 

E'en now the moaning of the storm is in the 

distance heard, — 
Yea, even now the tranquil sky with thunder 

clouds is blurred. 

They 're swelling big and bigger still, and yet 

you sit and smile, 
Secure behind your money-bags but for a little 
while. 

For soon the awful storm will burst upon you 

like a flood. 
The gutters of your crowded streets will overflow 

with blood. 

What right divine do you possess ? What angel 

guards your door ? 
Listen, and down a hundred years you still can 

the roar 

80 



HAVOC 

Of frantic Frenchmen dancing 'round the crim- 
soned guillotine. 

Drunk with the blood of gentlemen, of nobles, 
king and queen. 

And still, poor idiots, do you smile, secure behind 

your gold. 
When heads a thousand times more firm have in 

the basket rolled. 

Remember that the wealth you hoard, got by 

your scheming skill. 
Will never purchase safety then, — these demons 

hunt to kill. 

You Ve often clothed and fed them, too, but now 

no trifling sop. 
Though thrown in haste before his jaws, this 

Cerberus can stop. 



HAVOC 

With murder in his hellish heart, he wants both 

blood and gold ; 
He only knows that you are rich, that he is 

starved and cold. 

" Down with the rich ! " his battle-cry, " The 

people shall be free ! " 
Freedom for them ! You gave it when you 

called them o*er the sea, — 

The vice, the crime, the scum, the slime of every 

foreign land. 
And over them your aegis threw, and grasped 

each traitor hand. 

Now you shall reap the harvest that by your- 
selves was sown. 

And tread the burning ploughshare with many a 
bitter groan. 

82 



HAVOC 

You fought about the negro once; now for your- 
selves take care, — 

There 's treachery around you, and there *s mur- 
der lurking near. 



83 



THE OLD YEAR 

The year is dying with its hopes and fears, 

Its few faint smiles, its many bitter tears ; 

Another comes when strikes the midnight 

hour, — 
Will Fortune light my path, or will it lower 
With Disappointment's clouds ? Beyond the 
power 

Or ken of aught of mortal birth to say, 

The evil is sufficient to the day. 

And they, I ween, are happiest who defy 
Sunshine or shadow, bright or cloudy sky, 
And to the future look with calm philosophy. 



84 



JUBILATE DEO 

Righteous Ruler, Royal Lady, throned in 
majesty and splendor. 
Thou before whose matchless prestige all the 
past and present pale, 
Hear the world-encircling chorus which thy many 
millions render. 
Hear our mighty Jubilate, — Sovereign-Queen 
and Empress, hail ! 

* 

While thy white-walled island shaketh with the 
message that is pouring 
From thy thunder-throated warders as they tell 
it to the deep. 
While the heaven-storming anthem now above 
the clouds is soaring. 
While the bounding heart of Britain doth with 
exultation leap, 

85 



JUBILATE DEO 

All along the seas the echo rolleth till earth's 
corners listen; 
Mighty marts and commerce-crowded ports 
and rivers hear it swell, 
Lonely islands of the ocean, set in tropic tides 
that glisten 
Into gladness, speed it onward, and the tale of 
triumph tell. 



Where the dawn of new dominion into splendid 
noon is glowing. 
And the bright prophetic legend over Afric 
skies is scrolled. 
Where thy sons the seeds of empire with ambi- 
tious hands are sowing. 
There they think of thee and England, and 
their song is skyward rolled. 

86 



JUBILATE DEO 

Hark ! while India's dusky myriads in their 
many tongues proclaim thee ; 
Mighty Empress of the East, three hundred 
millions to thee call ; 
There from Scinde to far Sadiya, now again we 
hear them name thee, 
Now again their mingling voices ring from 
Gilgit down to Galle. 



Where in unfamiliar beauty night's bright lamps 
are hung in heaven, 
While the starry crux is dying in the dawn of 
austral skies. 
There the cannonading chorus flashes forth from 
lips of levin, 
And o'er sunny seas of sapphire on from isle 
to island flies. 



87 



JUBILATE DEO 

Drowned to-day the mighty music of Niagara's 
falling river. 
Lost in pure Pacific paeans, mingling with 
Atlantic's roar; 
Mountain, field, and lake are listening, into life 
the forests quiver, 
For they hear Vancouver calling unto lonely 
Labrador. 



Many a bivouac and barrack hears the reveille 
rejoicing. 
Many a citadel and fortress frowning over 
foreign foam 
Knows the music of that bugle, and with tongues 
of thunder voicing 
Forth a great lo Triumphed rolls an answering 
message home. 

88 



JUBILATE DEO 

Where the sheltering flag of England over land 
and sea is streaming, 
Where beneath a foreign banner British hearts 
beat quick with pride. 
Where across the trackless waters England's 
ships are swiftly steaming. 
Where her barks with tempest battle, or at 
anchor safely ride. 



There thy liegemen now salute thee, for wherever 
they may wander, 
'Neath that flag is always England, but to-day 
it is a shrine. 
Where they kneel and on her thousand years 
of matchless glory ponder. 
Rising never to forget the brightest of them all 
are thine. 



89 



JUBILATE DEO 

Where the home and hearth are sacred, yea, 
wherever women glory 

In the virtue that doth vanquish, where in 

every land they dwell, 
For long years they Ve learnt to love and linger 

o'er thy stainless story. 
And a world of women's voices of another 

empire tell. 



Golden mists of sixty summers melt and we again 
behold thee 
Maiden-monarch, sceptred, symboled, throned 
and crowned as England's Queen, 
There the promise of the present with its glory 
aureoled thee. 
While the ancient Abbey's arches never bent 
o'er grander scene. 

90 



JUBILATE DEO 

Then we see thee wife and mother, — tranquil 
days of joy whose fleetness 
Grandeur, glory, power, and prestige could not 
for one moment stay, — 
Days that dawned in peace and compassed every 
rare domestic sweetness. 
Till a life-enshrouding shadow fell across thy 
cloudless way. 



From thy lips the lurking Spoiler dashed the cup 
of all thy gladness, — 
O ye Mountains of Gilboa ! tears were then 
your dews and rain ; 
Then from Dan to Beersheba all the land was 
filled with sadness. 
For our tears with thine were mingled when 
thy lofty mate was slain. 

91 



JUBILATE DEO 

Ah, we miss thy minstrel Merlin, who with swift, 
unfaltering fingers. 
Taught the sounding Harp of England 
Honor's hymn and Sorrow's tale ; 
Over many a song immortal, sung to thee, how 
Memory lingers. 
Till we almost hear his voice and see the 
guiding gleam and grail. 



Nay, the gleam is ever with us ; thou for sixty 
years hast worn it, — 
'T is the guiding light of England, Glory's star 
and Honor's ray ; 
On thy forehead now it resteth. Truth and 
Righteousness adorn it. 
And it still shall lead us onward as it lights 
our path to-day. 

92 



JUBILATE DEO 

Now though Court and Camp and Cloister, Art 
and Song around thee cluster, 
Till the glory that enfolds thee seemeth more 
of heaven than earth, 
Yet it cannot for one moment blind us to the 
brighter lustre 
Of the faith that never faltered, of the woman's 
splendid worth. 



Though with triumph and with pageant and with 
paean we extol thee, 
As we lift thee and enthrone thee on the height 
of England's fame. 
Yet thy three-times-twenty years of blameless 
womanhood enroll thee 
With a halo that outshineth all thy gemmed 
tiara's flame. 



93 



JUBILATE DEO 

Now unto the King of Kings, the Lord of Hosts, 
the God of Nations, 
On^whose Truth, for strength and wisdom, 
thou with fearless faith dost lean. 
While the prayer and psalm are mingling with an 
empire's acclamations. 
Unto Him we do commend thee. Sovereign 
Lady, Empress, Queen. 



94 



TENNYSON 

His was the hand to strike our English lyre, 
And his the voice to answer to its tone ; 
From the low cottage to the lofty throne, 

In roaring London, or in sleeping shire. 

We knew the beacon gleam of Merlin's fire. 
Long as our language lives the world shall hear 
His clarion notes still ringing loud and clear. 

The purest voice in our celestial choir. 

He sang of love, and lo ! our brimming eyes 
Flowed over as we thought of fair Elaine ; 

He sang of death in stately harmonies. 
And half relieved it of its grief and pain : 

Whene'er the trembling chords his fingers swept. 

The world stood silent, or with gladness wept. 



95 



BYRON 

Thou Master Minstrel ! through whose won- 
drous strain, 

Rebellious notes of fierce defiance ring ; 

For thy deformity did to thee bring 
A bitterness that frenzied heart and brain, 
And galled thy restless spirit like a chain. 

Thy tongue was sharper than an adder's sting. 

And quick and far its venom it could fling, 
Or blight, or blast, or wither with disdain. 

But in thy matchless measures thou didst paint 
Love's loveliest scenes, and such a glamour 
throw 
O'er sin's soft errors, that we almost kneel 
To each frail beauty as to some fair saint ; 
The flowery path seems not to lead to woe. 
Thy rich red roses all its thorns conceal. 

96 



ON A PORTRAIT OF LUCIUS HAR- 
WOOD FOOTE 

When Art's apt fingers almost show the mind, 

And Genius doth unto the canvas lend 
The look of life, the colors thus combined 

In an immortal masterpiece do blend ; 
Though skilfully and well hereon are laid 

The conjuring pigments, yet when Time shall 
stain 
And dust bedim, a voice from out the shade 

Will echo on in an undying strain. 

We know, white-souled and loyal-hearted man. 
That unto all who shall this picture scan. 

Though it may be far on in distant days. 
Thy face will be familiar, for the fame 
Which now thy modest heart bids thee disclaim 

Will crown thy brow with Art's eternal bays. 

97 



THERE *S NOTHING LIKE THE 
OLD BALLADE 

( DOUBLE BALLADE ) 

Of all the tangled tropes that tell 
Of love or hate, or joy or pain. 

In sonnet, rondeau, villanelle. 
Or ode, or epic, or quatrain. 
Or any other kind of strain. 

Or light or heavy, gay or sad. 
To bring a boon or balk a bane. 

There 's nothing like the old ballade. 

98 



THERE »S NOTHING LIKE THE OLD BALLADE 

Its single cymbal suits me well, 

But when I sound the clanging twain. 
Then Pegasus begins to smell 

The battle, and he shakes his mane ; 

No need of spur, — I give him rein. 
Think ye that he 's a patient pad ? 

To make him gallop for his grain, 
There 's nothing like the old ballade. 



Did not rash Villon in his cell 

Hard by the sobbing waves of Seine, 

Deaf to the dooming, dismal bell, 
And all unmindful of his chain. 
There carol forth a rare refrain 

That comes to us with glory clad ? 
If rhyme could rid him of his stain. 

There *s nothing like the old ballade. 

99 



ll.o^C. 



THERE'S NOTHING LIKE THE OLD BALLADE 

For from his reckless lips there fell 

Such glowing gems that Glory's fane, 
Wherein the world's Immortals dwell, 

Doth many a less than he contain. 

The prude may treat him with disdain. 
She neither can detract nor add, 

For beauty did a champion gain, — 
There 's nothing like the old ballade. 



The high-born maiden's heart will swell. 

And think the whispered vow inane 
Sweet as the voice of philomel, 

When poesy hath made it plain. 

See yonder awkward, stammering swain ! 
His simple song makes Chloe glad ; 

When tongues are tied and vows are vain. 
There 's nothing like the old ballade. 



lOO 



THERE'S NOTHING LIKE THE OLD BALLADE 

The tune that Triton taught the shell, 
Sung by the surge and hurricane, 

The lute of Orpheus, *neath whose spell 
We, like the Thracians, long have lain. 
Pan's pipes that filled the shepherd's brain 

With melody that made him mad. 

All live, — so why should Villon wane? 

There 's nothing like the old ballade. 

ENVOY 

Prince ! though this tantalizing skein 
Of rhyme hath less of good than bad, 

A cup to Villon let us drain, — 

There 's nothing like the old ballade. 



lot 



ON NEW YEARNS EVE 

( RONDEAU ) 

On New Year's Eve, long years ago, 
Ere Temple Bar was leveled low, 

I strolled along the Strand and Fleet, — 
I mean, of course, the classic street, — 
Then Ludgate Hill I mounted slow. 

I paused in Paternoster Row, 
At Amen Corner there, — for oh ! 
I heard Paul's bells a paean beat. 

On New Year's Eve. 

Their music drowned the Bells of Bow, 
In Cheapside near, for such a flow 
Of rhythmic ringing, full and sweet. 
Did greet me then, it still doth greet 
Me through the years where'er I go 

On New Year's Eve. 

I02 



VIVE LA BAGATELLE 

(ballade) 

Often when I think 
Of the days gone by, 

Into gloom I sink. 
And I sit and sigh. 
Scarcely knowing why ; 

Monk in lonely cell 
Happier is than I, — 

Vive la bagatelle I 

Let the glasses clink ! 

Drain the beakers dry ! 
Death to sorrow drink ! 

Life to jollity ! 

See the shadows fly ! 
Better cap and bell, 

Than in grief to die, — 
Vive la bagatelle ! 
103 



VIVE LA BAGATELLE 

Ah, those cheeks of pink ! 

Little rogue so sly, 
Forging link by link, 

Every one a tie ; 

Lips that I might try 
Vainly to repel. 

Conquer as they cry, 
Vive la bagatelle I 

ENVOY 

Happy hearts that lie 
Safe within love's spell ; 

Sorrow may defy, — 
Vive la bagatelle I 



104 



BIRTHDAY SONNET 

We cry when we are born, but when we die, 
Though others there may be who for us weep, 
Yet do we often welcome that last sleep. 

And pass away from earth without a sigh. 

But in the intervening years that fly 
Sorrow and joy uncertain vigils keep, 

Till life itself seems naught but vanity. 
And death the only harvest we shall reap. 

As to Egyptian feasts the corpse was brought, 
To teach the revelers that life was naught, 

So may this dismal verse to thee appear ; 
But not one shadow would I cast this day, — 
I wish thee all good things, and with them pray 

That God will give thee many a happy year. 



105 



THE DEVOTEE 

Thou art no saint, but when I feel 

Thy blessed lips on mine, 
In adoration I could kneel 

And own thee half divine. 
A glory crowns thy golden hair, 

And lights thy loving eyes ; 
Daughter of earth, thou art as fair 

As those who tread the skies. 

And when in my enraptured ears 

Thy murmuring accents flow, 
I think some spirit of the spheres 

Hath wandered here below ; 
For angel lips alone could move 

In melody so sweet. 
Child of the skies, behold thy love 

A suppliant at thy feet. 
1 06 



THE DEVOTEE 

Time's rough unsparing hand will chase 

Thy loveliness away ; 
But there *s a nobler, loftier grace 

That triumphs o'er decay. 
The heart that never once betrayed, 

That changing years have tried. 
When all thy other beauties fade. 

Shall draw me to thy side. 



107 



FRANCESCA 

Lady, thy melodist, on Fancy's wing, 

Far through the golden-misted past doth stray; 

Oh, if to crown thy beauty he could bring 
The silver beam of Dante's deathless ray, 
That 'round the brow of Beatrice doth play. 

Or that which Petrarch did o'er Laura fling, — 

Thy name, dear love, should down the ages ring. 
Till earth and all thereon were swept away. 

Fame's living leaves should be thine aureole. 
And such a song as shrines old Ilium's curse 
Should tell the years the beauty that is thine ; 
A hymn of homage down Time's tide to roll. 
To bear thee onward in a deathless verse, — 
That were thy guerdon, if the gift were mine. 



io8 



THROUGH JOYOUS YEARS 

Through joyous years, that ever show 

Increase of gladness as they go, 
May calm content and happiness. 
And all life holds to crown and bless, 

Be what the gods on thee bestow. 

May summer skies above thee glow. 
And favoring breezes ever blow. 

Thy bark o*er tranquil tides to press 

Through joyous years. 

And tears, — if tears should sometimes flow,- 
May they be April showers that owe 

Their source to joy and not distress ; 

That vanish with the close caress 

Of lips that love and fonder grow 

Through joyous years. 
109 



ADIEU D' AMOUR 

Faithful in every fibre of thy heart. 
And all as beautiful as thou art true, 

Yet if it be thy wish that we should part, 
Let *s unkiss all our vows and say Adieu. 

The love that glowed so warmly in thy breast 
Is dying slowly, — shall we let it die? 

Yes, if the flickering flame brings thee unrest. 
My tears shall drown it as I weep Good-by. 

Good-by ! Ah no ! We cannot break the chain ; 

The fetters fused in passion's crucible 
Are hard to sever ; so we must remain 

Bound to each other, though we sigh Farewell, 

no 



ENGLAMOURED 

There 's a love that every other love excelleth, 

And its glamour doth outglow the noonday sun; 
*T is the faith that with suspicion never dwelleth, 

And the rapture that is reckless to outrun 
The fond hope that every compassed joy sur- 
passes, 

Till with eagerness it thrilleth to embrace. 
They may bid me look on thee through Doubt's 
dark glasses, 

But I only see the beauty of thy face. 



Ill 



I LOVE THEE STILL 

(rondeau) 

I LOVE thee still, — there 's not a day 
That drags its dreary length away, 
From dark December unto June, 
Through winter night or summer noon. 
But unto thee my fancies stray. 

Poor heralds of my heart are they 
Who would to thee my love convey 

And woo thee with the wearying tune, — 

I love thee still. 

Ah, but to feel thy pulses play. 

And once again my head to lay 

On thy white breast ! For such a boon. 
Though thou wert fickle as the moon. 

My lips would cling to thee and say, — 

I love thee still. 

112 



THE SUPPLICANT 

Ideal beauty such as angels wear 

Clothes thee with living glory, and I feel 
An overpowering influence to kneel 

And vows of love, eternal love, to swear ; 

Oh listen, and these supplications hear ! 

These sighs and tears which I cannot conceal 
Would move a heart of adamantine steel. 

Or from a silent sphinx its secret tear. 

Mysterious power of Love ! lend me thine aid,- 
They never call in vain who cry to thee. 

By that wild kiss which on her lips I laid, 
Tumultuous type of richer rhapsody. 

For one short hour these fevered lips of mine 

Steep in voluptuous love's enchanted wine. 



113 



THEA 

When 'gainst the clamor of my blood the wave 
Of chiding crimson rushes to thy face ; 
When with insistent beat my pulses race 

And mock the rebel blushes that would brave 

And balk me of the bliss for which I crave, — 
Then, though thy lips may mutine for a space, 
Soon in the cincture of a close embrace 

Breathes the surrendering sigh that oft forgave. 

I dream of thee by day and night ; the flame 
Thy kiss hath kindled in my blood doth glow 
Like to a ceaseless and a secret fire 
To light me to the hour when I shall claim 
The pledge of passion promised long ago, — 
The crowning of my love and life's desire. 



114 



WAIFS 

One morn with quickened pulses did we stand 

Where life's young fountains murmured of 
unrest ; 

The virgin vintage of her lips I pressed, 
And lo ! we passed to an enchanted land, 
Where Ruin's bridgeless gulf was rainbow- 
spanned ; 

But when that night she wept upon my breast, 
She seemed a love-wrecked angel on the strand 

Of some strange star, wing-weary and unblest. 

Not all unhappy, still we drift along, 

Down the wild waters of Love's waif-strown sea; 
And closer do we cling, when others tell 
Of that dark whirlpool in whose eddies strong 
Frail passion-freighted lovers such as we 
Are dragged by under-currents down to hell. 



RUBRIC 

Not as the Pharisee who stood apart 

And thanked Thee that he was not Hke the 
rest; 

But as the Publican who smote his breast 
And owned the sin that ruled his rebel heart ; 
So when we err forgive us, for Thou art 

Most merciful to those who in love's quest 
Grow obdurate, till Conscience hath no dart 

That is not dulled and ceases to molest. 

When the warm warrant of the blood begins 
To lend its license to our love, and we 
Revel in all the rapturous joys that make 
Us derelict to duty, may our sins 

Be lighter held if then we pray to Thee 

That other hearts through us may never 

ache. 

ii6 



IN ABSENCE 

I SIT with Pan beneath Arcadian trees 

And see the satyr and the nymph and faun ; 

I look on dazzhng Aphrodite drawn 
By dolphins over shining sapphire seas ; 
I hear the tune of Triton in the breeze, 

Sad philomel at night, the lark at dawn. 
But little power have they to appease 

My passion and my pain when thou art gone. 

■♦ 
Yea, e'en the paths of poesy seem bare 
Of all their beauty, for I fail to find 

In them the flowers whose fragrance once 
could fling 
A spell around me that defied despair, 

That made me deaf to love, to passion blind, — 
But little consolation now they bring. 



117 



LOVE ME ONCE MORE 

Love me once more. Ah, what have I to do 
With love, or what has love to do with me ? 
And yet thy face by day and night 1 see, 

And with this prayer my soul doth thine pursue,- 

Love me once more. 

Love me once more ; and it will teach the pen 
That pleads so feebly to thee on this page 
To tell lorn lovers, in some after age. 

That love, though dead, may leap to life again. 

Love me once more ; for as the hart doth pant 
To drink the water-brooks, I thirst for thee ; 
Here, in the waste of life, I bend the knee 
And murmur like a famished mendicant, — 

Love me once more. 
ii8 



LOVE ME ONCE MORE 

Love me once more ; and these poor rhymes 1 
write 
In thrilling trumpet tones shall sound thy 

name, . . 

Till it shall echo where the Peaks of Fame 
Are bathed forever in ambrosial light. 

Love me once more. Dost thou no longer heed 
That which had once been life's supremest 

prize ? 
And wilt thou now the proffered gift despise 
And turn away, to mock me, as I plead, — 

Love me once more ? 



119 



THE IDOLATER 

Methinks it is not strange that I should kneel, 

For 'round thy head a golden glory plays ; 
Nor do I wonder that my senses reel, 

Delirious with the glamour of thy gaze ; 
And when thy rich, impassioned lips I press. 

Life's cup is full, and death would be most 
sweet 
If I could breathe farewell in that caress 

And make thy snowy limbs my winding-sheet. 

Ah no, dear love, unless that parting sigh 
Mingles with thine, and in one joyous flight 

We voyage onward o'er the trackless sky. 
Till havened in some heaven of delight, 

I 'd rather linger with thee on this sphere. 

For heaven is close when thou, my love, art near. 



I20 



WHEN LULU COMES 

(rondeau) 

When Lulu comes, — yea, long before 
Her dainty fingers beat my door. 

Before her eager step I hear. 

My heart leaps up to greet my dear, — 
It must be Love's unconscious lore. 

I live upon the topmost floor ; 
Yet never lark did skyward soar 

With gladder heart than hers, I swear. 

When Lulu comes. 

Like waves that beat a distant shore, 
The crowded streets beneath me roar. 
What care I for that sullen sphere. 
When heaven itself is drawing near ? 
Its glowing gates I '11 pass once more. 

When Lulu comes. 

121 



VICTOR LOVE 

Tender, melting lips, distilling 

Lovers rich vintage, sweet and rare ; 

Trusting, pleading eyes, now filling 
With the bright reproachful tear, 

A sob so sweet, so softly low, 

A breath of heaven, a knell of woe. 



Ah, the murmuring and the sighing, 
And the tumult in each breast ! 

Heart to heart is now replying, 
Victor Love is crowned and blest ; 

The tyrant sits in Reason's throne. 

And claims the kingdom for his own. 



122 



VICTOR LOVE 

How he scatters all his treasures 
On his subjects, you and me, — 

Golden showers of richest pleasures ! 
Godlike mortals now are we. 

What care we for the sword of flame 

That bars the gate through which we came ! 



What, beloved, art thou sobbing. 
Weeping that there *s no return ? 

How thy timid heart is throbbing ! 
How thy cheeks with crimson burn ! 

My kiss shall teach thee to forget. 

And love shall triumph o'er regret. 



123 



GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART 

(rondeau) 

GooD-BY, sweetheart, — you made me blest, 
But now you leave me like the rest. 
The future seems a black abyss, 
But o*er the gulf I waft a kiss. 
Which on this parting page is pressed. 

By others I have been caressed. 
But you I loved the last and best. 

Yet now, like them, you murmur this, — 

Good-by, sweetheart. 

Your coldness long ago was guessed. 

Although it never was confessed ; 

But I forgive you for the bliss 

Of bygone days, which I shall miss 

In those to come, — but why protest? 

Good-by, sweetheart. 
124 



THE TEMPTRESS 

Belike thou art a temptress come from hell, — 
The devil oft dons a fair disguise, — 
And yet I like the laughter in thine eyes. 

And for thy lips, I love them wondrous well ; 

They do remind me of an ocean shell. 
With all its murmuring melody of sighs, 

Till I forget, when captive to their spell, 

The whispered music may be naught but lies. 

Nay, nay ! I do thee wrong ; have I not felt 
The rosy rebels into sweetness melt, 

And seen thee swoon beneath my warm caress ? 
What matter if thy lips the word withhold, — 
In the mute music of thy pulses bold 

Thy love grows voluble and doth confess. 



12,5 



THE KING IS DEAD; LONG LIVE 
THE KING! 

(ballade) 

When Villon sang the melted snows, 
The white shroud of a buried year, 

Say, did the traitor winds disclose 
Their hiding-place, or tell him where 
Were laid the dead, the debonair 

Lost women whom he loved to sing ? 

No, but they sighed, then answered clear, — 

The king is dead ; long live the king ! 

Why weep the love-surrendered rose ? 

Is faded beauty worth a tear? 
On yonder stem another glows. 

In fresher fragrance hanging there ; 

126 



THE KING IS DEAD; LONG LIVE THE KING 

While in the murmuring breeze we hear 
The love-song of the joyous Spring, 

Shouting above old Winter's bier. 
The king is dead ; long live the king ! 

And thus the cycling measure goes ; 

One day fond lips allegiance swear, 
The next the wanton traitress throws 

Her eyes on some new cavalier, 

Who for a season short may wear 
Her favors, in his turn to fling 

Them to the winds for one more fair, — 
The king is dead ; long live the king ! 

ENVOY 

Prince ! when you listen to the cheer 

That through your crowded courts shall ring, 

Remember, thus they '11 hail your heir — 
The king is dead ; long live the king ! 

127 



VACILLATION 

The blessing and the curse alternate rise ; 
One day I swear that thou art fairer far 
Than the chaste beauty of yon silver star 

That nightly hangs her lamp in western skies ; 

The next I look on thee with other eyes, — 
Thy beauty hath all vanished, and thou art 
Foul as a leper, and thy traitor heart 

Seems but a sink of craftiness and lies. 

One day with many a passion-prompted vow 
I braid love's votive blossoms in thy hair ; 

The next I tear the tribute from thy brow. 
And crown thee with the curses of despair : 

Swayed by the changing moon, tides ebb and flow. 

So to thy fickle heart these moods I owe. 



128 



THE FRIAR'S CONFESSION 

(ballade) 

Of this fasting and praying I 'm weary, 
For the flesh is rebellious and bold ; 

I have mumbled and said Ave Mary, 
Of my Paters a thousand I Ve told. 
And in sackcloth I *m cassocked and stoled ; 

I am buttressed with candle and bell. 
Still a face of the lost I behold, 

For of such is the kingdom of hell. 

At the first she seemed timid and chary. 

And she blushed *neath her nimbus of gold ; 

Then she smiled at each sinful vagary 
That her whispering lips did unfold. 
Till I thought of that temptress of old 

Whom Saint Anthony drove from his cell ; 

But I shrived her and soothed and consoled. 

For of such is the kingdom of hell. 

129 

H 



THE FRIAR'S CONFESSION 

But she left me one day, and I query, 

To whose arms has the wanderer strolled ? 
Let Te Deum, and not Miserere, 

A loud song of thanksgiving be trolled. 

But perhaps she is under the mould. 
And her soul with the devil doth dwell ; 

Let Beelzebub then be condoled. 
For of such is the kingdom of hell. 

ENVOY 

When the face of a wanton *s enrolled 
With a halo, it 's hard to repel ; 

Then no wonder we 're often cajoled. 
For of such is the kingdom of hell. 



130 



THE MAENAD 

That fiction in thy face is not a blush, — 

Do I not know thy glowing beauty well ? 
*T is Passion's rosy herald, as I crush 

The ripe grapes of thy lips, and doth foretell 
A richer vintage than did ever crown 

Bacchante's reddest beaker ; though that flood 
Hath often lit with laughter Sorrow's frown, 

It never lent such longings to my blood. 

Thy kisses shake my pulses, till my heart. 
Lured by the murmuring music in thy veins, 
Panteth with Passion's painless pangs for 
thee. 
Who taught thy lips to link with such sweet art 
These soul-ensnaring and flesh-fettering chains. 
Thy tongue this soft Circean sorcery ? 



131 



THE WEDDING-BELL 

This day, long years ago, my love and life 

And loyalty were pledged, and as thy bride, 
Thy best beloved, thy chosen one and wife, 
I heard these words, when standing at thy 

side : — 
"Whom God hath joined, let naught on 
earth divide." 
With clean young lips I gave thee vow for vow. 
From thee no secret did my heart then hide, 
With faith and love thy words did me endow, — 
Down through the wasted years thy voice comes 
ringing now. 

My heart was pure as is the crystal dew 

That trembles in the lily's breast ot snow; 
But only for a few short months 't was true ; 

132 



THE WEDDING-BELL 

How few, 't were better for thee not to know. 
Before distrust was dreamt of, years ago, 
I gave myself to one whose lips of fire 

Made my young placid pulses throb and 
glow 
And leap beneath the lashes of desire. 
Till Innocence lay dead on Passion's flaming pyre. 

They say the first false step is hard to take ! 

To some, perhaps, it is, but unto me 

It was most easy ; for I did forsake 

Virtue's stern path as one who turns to flee 

From some unpleasant thing ; I sought the 

free. 

Voluptuous scenes where Passion spreads her 

flowers, 

Nor did I have one weak regret for thee ; 

Eager I was for Sin's soft sensual hours. 

And from thy side would steal to those forbidden 

bowers. 

133 



THE WEDDING-BELL 

How many times I Ve felt thy lips on mine, 
Joined in a kiss of trusting tenderness ! 

While I would cling unto thee like a vine, 
And lasting love and loyalty confess, 
Little thy poor deluded heart did guess 

In other arms that very hour I 'd lain : 
Thus with my Judas lips and soft caress 

Did I thy love and confidence retain, 
While closer round thy heart I forged the galling 
chain. 



I loved the guilty glamour at the first, — 
It painted hell in most alluring dyes ; 

For Sin's adulterous cup my soul did thirst, — 
With it I swallowed all the flattering lies 
That sang the praises of my lips and eyes. 

And, like a moth, I flew to meet the flame. 
But soon I found their hollow gallantries 

134 



THE WEDDING-BELL 

Did always cloak and cover but one aim, — 
In every brimming glass they made me drink my 
shame. 

When first my stealthy steps began to tread 
Sin's crooked labyrinth, I did conceal 

Each guilty act with care ; for I did dread 
Thy watchful eye, and then, perhaps, did feel 
A little shame ; but now, with heart of steel 

And face of brass and bolder feet, I go 

The slippery way; or, like a drunkard, reel 

Reckless and fearless of the fate I know 
That drags me down and down to one dark doom 
of woe. 

The beauty that thy lips once loved to praise 
Withers so fast that I can see it fade ; 

And Lust's bold burning breath will soon erase 
The little that is left me to degrade. 

135 



THE WEDDING-BELL 

I found it hard at first in shame to trade, — 
I gave them my young soul, which they did 
mould 
Howe'er they wished, the while thy name 
was made 
A byword and a sneer ; now, bold and cold. 
My meretricious lips have learnt to ask for gold. 

And now, I am — ah God ! I hate to speak 
The loathsome word — a thing that knows 
not where 

Its proper place is. Sometimes when I seek 
To gather from the past some hope to cheer, 
I think of what I am, and freeze with fear ; 

But in my dreams I wander back again 

To brighter scenes, and I behold thee, dear, 

As in our love's young days. Alas, how vain ! 
Before the breaking dawn the dreamy vistas wane. 



136 



THE WEDDING-BELL 

At first a few were good to me and kind, 

But all their kindness was of no avail ; 
Bound up in self, I was both deaf and blind. 

The promises I made were meant to fail. 

'T is easy to be false when one is frail. 
And I became an adept to deceive. 

Till now there is no sin at which I quail. 
Nor anything in life o'er which I grieve. 
Except, perhaps, our child, to whom I hope to 
cleave. 

And so they all did go, till every one 

Had passed away from me, and quickly, too. 

I saw old friends, with faces turned to shun. 
Avoid me on the street ; for well they knew 
That I had joined the black, abandoned 
crew. 

And like a chattel could be bought and sold. 

Did I say all ? No ; one poor fool was 

true, — 

137 



THE WEDDING-BELL 

One who had loved me well in days of old, — 
But the devoted dupe could give me little gold. 

And now I do not find it very hard 

To stalk my quarry on the public street ; 
Practice hath skilled me well my looks to 
guard, 
And often when some stranger comes to 

greet 
My actions are most proper and discreet. 
My long-experienced eyes have learnt to look 
With well-schooled glances, most demure 
and sweet ; 
I know the crafty lesson like a book, 
And with what charms are left I bait the hidden 
hook. 

Why enter into all the ways and wiles 

That women like me use to gain their ends ? 

138 



THE WEDDING-BELL 

The contemplation hardly reconciles 

The present with the past ; it only blends 
Sorrow and sin together, and it lends 
A bitterness that rankles in the heart. 

Though I am hardened now beyond amends, 
And all untouched by Shame's most poignant 
dart. 
Yet when I think on thee my soul with pain doth 
smart. 

I loved thee once ; I think I love thee still, 
Though time hath taught my hardened heart 
to shrink 
From brooding o'er those days ; but Memory 
will 
Call up the tears. When now, too late, I 

think 
That I gave thee life's bitterest cup to 
drink, 

139 



THE WEDDING-BELL 

How fast they rise, though no one sees them 
flow! 
And when I kiss thy child, the one last link 
That binds me to the past, too well I know 
That to myself alone my misery I owe. 

The breath of Spring once more is in the air 
As on that day ; the skies are clear and 
bright ; 
I feel the breezes running through my hair, 
And, for a moment, gaze with aching sight 
Across the years to scenes that half invite 
My wandering feet to struggle and return. 

Alas ! the vision passes as I write ; 
'T were vain to let my heart one moment yearn 
In tenderness for thee, — the suppliant thou 
wouldst spurn. 



140 



THE WEDDING-BELL 

I once did think that from my murdered past 

No spectres e*er could rise to bring me pain ; 

But now they throng around me thick and fast, 

Beating with unseen wings my throbbing 

brain. 
Once more I stand by thee, and once again 
With perjured lips my marriage vows I tell, — 
God! What is this? Have I become 
insane ? 
No ! no ! And yet I hear my wedding-bell 
Striking across the years, — Hope's fateful, final 
knell. 



141 



A WHITED SEPULCHRE 

A FACE most fair and aureoled above 
With such a golden glory, it doth seem 
A garland woven in a poet's dream 

To bind the brows of Innocence and Love ; 

Eyes with the trusting fondness of the dove. 
And lips, so sweetly parted, they appear 
To breathe the heart's pure orisons sincere, 

Or with Truth's tender vows alone to move. 

Ah, whited charnel ! where the roses bloom. 
Only to hide the horrors of the tomb. 

Thy ghastly foulness thou canst not disguise. 
Those facile lips are skilled in every art. 
The ready servants of a venal heart. 

While serpents lurk within the dove-like eyes. 

142 



HEAVEN AND HELL 

If within those pearly portals where the just 

made perfect sing 
Endless songs and hallelujahs in the presence 

of the King ; 

Where the Church Triumphant triumphs over 

all the things of earth. 
Where they know the full fruition of their mystic 

second birth ; 

Born of water and the Spirit, into glory, into 

light. 
Sunshine ever, darkness never, clothed in robes 

of spotless white ; 

143 



HEAVEN AND HELL 

Where through all the courts of heaven ring 

hosannas to the Lamb, 
Where they glorify the Father, He, the One, the 

Great I AM, 

If, ye beatific spirits ever circling *round the 
throne. 

Ye are happy, still remain so. Earth hath pleas- 
ures of her own. 

Flesh and blood cannot inherit those eternal halls 

of light. 
Though at times the baffled spirit tries to reach 

them in its flight. 

Far above the clouds it rises on some heaven- 
storming strain. 

But the weight of clay it rarries drags it down to 
earth again ; 

144 



HEAVEN AND HELL 

Or, perhaps, when hearts are beating and when 
tender lips are pressed 

To our own in love's rare moments, then, caress- 
ing and caressed. 

Little care we for the raptures that the sons 

of God may know, — 
Earth hath daughters still as fair as when they 

knew them long ago. 

Where the gnawing worm ne'er dieth, and the cry 

of torture rolls. 
Where the smoke through hell's hot hatches 

riseth up from burning souls. 

Where old Dives, in his torment, heavenward 

rolls his pleading eyes. 
Clutching with his shriveled fingers at the dear 

and distant skies, 

145 



HEAVEN AND HELL 

Sees the cool and crystal river where the lazy 

Lazarus laves 
His polluted limbs, and mocks him in his anguish 

as he raves. 

Begging for one drop of water, but one drop, to 

cool his tongue, 
Though from off the leper's finger even that one 

drop were flung; 

Where forever dwell the millions who preferred 

the primrose way. 
Where they reap helFs hottest whirlwind and the 

price of evil pay ; 

If, my brothers in the brimstone, recollections 

with ye dwell 
Of your earthly days, remember earth itself can 

turn to hell. 

146 



HEAVEN AND HELL 

Go and ask that ghastly sleeper stretched upon 

the public slab, 
When he sought the quick quietus, whether swift 

self-given stab. 

Boring bullet, gas, or poison, hell itself, he did not 

crave. 
As his haunted, hunted spirit glared across the 

Stygian wave. 

Go and conjure back the breath to its abandoned 

home of clay. 
Then bend over his pale lips and listen well to 

what they say : — 

" Bankrupt purse and tortured body, broken 

heart and burning brain. 
Fed upon me at the last as vultures feed upon 

the slain ; 

147 



HEAVEN AND HELL 

" And with hungry beak and talon did they at 

this carcase tear. 
But they fled their breathing banquet when the 

pistol-shot rang clear. 

"Youth and health, and wealth and station, all 
the world could give, was mine, — 

Though the dregs were black and bitter, yet the 
draught was half divine. 

" Once I thought the light of heaven shone within 

a woman*s eyes. 
But Delilah ne'er more deftly did her treachery 

disguise. 

"All unconscious of disaster did I clasp unto 

my heart 
One whose Judas lips did ever with betraying 

kisses part, — 

148 



HEAVEN AND HELL 

" One whose harlot-hearted homage covered all 

her crafty ways, 
Till heirs torturing torch was kindled and on 

earth began to blaze. 

"In its lurid light I saw her, and, by righteous 

vengeance swayed, 
First I thought to slay the slayer of the life she 

had betrayed; 

" But a coward kindness showing, let her as the 

wronged appear. 
Till her perjured plea, * desertion,' caught a 

judge's willing ear; 

" Then the court-created strumpet, licensed with 

her false decree. 
Took my child, and took my name, and left me 

blasted, wrecked, and free. 

149 



HEAVEN AND HELL 

" Those that had to me been silent then the 

galling story told, 
How, when honored and beloved and trusted in 

the days of old, 

" Had her stealthy footsteps wandered from me 

at the very first, 
How her red, adulterous lips had always known 

the guilty thirst. 

" Maddened with the revelation, quick a bullet 

crashed its way 
Through my frenzied brain, and left me as you 

find me here to-day." 

Go and give him comfort. Dives ; thou art not 

alone accurst; 
Thou but cravest drops of water, — he, methinks, 

a hotter thirst ; 

150 



HEAVEN AND HELL 

Ask him, as the flaming torments 'round about 

ye leap and blaze, 
Whether hell's most cruel tortures equal his last 

earthly days. 



151 



A SKETCH 

Virtue and truth were thine long, long ago. 

But from the first thy girlish steps did walk ; 
The last, they say, who saw thee upward grow, 

Fled when thy lisping lips began to talk. 
And thou wert wondrous fair, as many know, 

But now, though plastered paint and powdered 
chalk 
Strive hard to hide the footprints of the crow. 

Time is one suitor whom thou canst not mock. 

Yea, thou didst triumph once, and rigid dames 
With plainer features, but with cleaner names, 

Hated the baleful beauty of thy face. 
Now in the limbo of a hell whose blaze 
Leaps to enfold thee, thou wouldst mend thy 
ways 
And try thy zigzag footsteps to retrace. 

152 



A CAROL OF THE CURSED 

To THAT sad second circle, where the gale 
Whirls like dead leaves the souls of those who wail 
O'er bygone earthly bliss ; where, thick as dust, 
The blast is peopled with the hosts of Lust, 
One night I wandered, in a dream, and there 
Looked on the loved and lost ones of Despair. 
I saw the Mantuan with the Tuscan stand. 
And with them for a space the scene I scanned. 
Beauty and Anguish freighted full the blast 
As Earth's immortal lemans drifted past. 
All who e'er loved to hear the serpent's hiss, 
From that great carnal queen, Semiramis, 
Down to the comely and complying maid 
Who to her lover's arms steals through the 

shade, — 
All who have fed their flesh to Passion's fire 
Here moan forever in a mournful choir. 

153 



A CAROL OF THE CURSED 

First, Helen, whose white flesh bore many a 

mark 
Branded by burning lips, swept through the 

dark; 
Then, following, came Egypta's black-browed 

queen. 
Within whose glowing orbs a light was seen 
That scorched a soul still hungry with desire ; 
Then Dido passed, who died upon the pyre ; 
Francesca wept and told her tale again. 
Then sought Paolo in the ghostly train ; 
Delilah, Messalina, Jezebel, 
With myriads made the circling course of hell. 
The cloudy cortege as it passed displayed 
Full many a fair and well-remembered shade ; 
When lo ! I saw amid the tearful throng 
One that did unto youth's fair days belong. 
One I had deemed unspotted of the world. 
Along the winds of hell came swiftly hurled. 

154 



A CAROL OF THE CURSED 

She paused, divining well what I would ask, 
And said : " I know thy wish ; shall I unmask 
The secret of my life and tell thee how 
I came to be what thou beholdest now ? 
Shall Memory, mocking Misery, upHft 
The curtain of the past ? Shall Sorrow shift 
The far-oiF sunny scenes of girlhood till 
I show where first I trembled to the thrill 
Of Passion's conquering kiss ? Shall these pale 
lips. 

Now parched and withered in this bitter gust. 
Boast of a beauty that ne'er knew eclipse, 

Until, at last, it shuddered into dust ? " 

" Yea, tell me all," I cried. She said : "Though 

years 
Have passed since I beheld thee, though thine 

ears 
Heard nothing of me, in another name, 

155 



A CAROL OF THE CURSED 

In distant lands, my face the creed became 
Of men who kneel to beauty. Soon I rose 
High in a world where rank a glamour throws 
Full oft around the Paphian, and I found 
Myself a queen, unrivaled, myrtle-crowned. 
I scaled the glittering heights of sin, where shame 
Was soon forgotten in the flush of fame ; 
Yet often unto thee my thoughts would turn. 
For 't was thy kiss first made my blood to burn 
In crimson mutiny, and in my breast 
Waked the persistent demon of unrest. 
Like flame on flax, thy lips on mine did lay 
The red coals of desire. One Christmas day. 
Within home's hallowed circle, long ago. 
Lust leaped and claimed me 'neath the mistletoe. 
And turned my blood to a tumultuous tide 
That bore me on and on until I died. 
Though in my sequent sin thou hadst no part, 
Yet thy bold lips awakened in my heart 

156 



A CAROL OF THE CURSED 

A hope of happiness that never bloomed, 
But brought me here among the deathless 
doomed." 

She sighed, " Farewell 1 " then, borne upon the 

wind. 
Swept through the doleful deeps of hell to find 
Some lover she had known on earth, with whom 
To voyage for a season through the gloom. 



157 



THE VAMPIRE 

Angel or demon, tell me which thou art, 

And whither thou wouldst bear my captive 
soul, — 

If far beyond the stars that o'er us roll. 
To some bright sphere where we shall never part. 
Or to those regions of eternal flame. 

Where spirits lost forever loudly wail. 
So thou art there, dear love, 't will be the same ; 

Or heaven or hell with thee I '11 gladly hail. 

Body and soul now thine, and thine alone. 
And the rash homage of each pulsing vein. 

As frenzied love leaps into Reason's throne. 
And like a drunken prodigal doth reign, — 

All, all confess the raptures that I feel. 

As through thy lips my swooning senses steal. 

158 



IT'S NOT THE DISTANCE, IT 'S THE 
PACE, THAT KILLS 

(double ballade) 

Whenas, in summer, Sophonisba goes. 
In fine foulard, adown the promenade, — 

Or when, in furs, she faces winter snows. 
In sumptuous sables gorgeously arrayed, — 
I wonder how the rosy rustic maid 

That milked the cows with simple Jacks and Jills 
Into the Babylonian labyrinth strayed, — 

It 's not the distance, it 's the pace, that kills. 

For her the lowing herd no longer lows. 

No more she drives it homeward through the 
shade ; 

The husky hoeman pauses as he hoes 

To wonder why she wandered from the glade. 

159 



IT' S THE PACE THAT KILLS 

Not overmuch she loved him and his spade, 
So turned her from the glebe the yokel tills 

And sought the city and an easy trade, — 
It 's not the distance, it*s the pace, that kills. 

Fair is she as the fabled queen that rose 

From out the rippling waves that 'round her 
played. 
Or she who made the Greek and Trojan foes, 
And watched them battle from the barricade 
Through which the wooden war-horse was 
conveyed 
That brought about old Ilium's endless ills. 
'Twere better she and Helen home had 
stayed, — 
It 's not the distance, it 's the pace, that kills. 

As yet her sky is overarched with bows. 

Naught in the balance of her brain is weighed ; 

i6o 



IT'S THE PACE THAT KILLS 

Little cares she for Fate's hard-handed blows, 
And nothing for the hair-suspended blade. 
The distant whirling blast — in which is swayed 

The reaping-hook of Fate — no warning shrills ; 
Such far forebodings rarely are obeyed, — 

It's not the distance, it's the pace, that kills. 

Mayhap the radiant loveliness that glows 

Upon her cheek will not too quickly fade ; 
I Ve sometimes seen it linger long with those 

Who foot it fleetest down the fatal grade. 

1 mean not now your ancient withered jade. 
Whose fissured features art inaptly fills ; 

She trots for years the tempting turf, afraid, — 
It *s not the distance, it 's the pace, that kills. 

Where to the passing zephyr Pleasure sows 

The seeds that Sorrow reaps without her aid ; 
Where many a fizzing flagon upward throws 

i6i 



IT'S THE PACE THAT KILLS 

The sparkling bubbles till the roof is sprayed ; 

Where Folly runs her maddest escapade, 
And most unholy passion throbs and thrills, 

There laughs and loves the rustic renegade, — 
It *s not the distance, it 's the pace, that kills. 

ENVOY 

Some morning in the morgue we *11 see her laid, 
Silent within the cold caress that stills. 

That comes the rosiest revel to upbraid, — 
It *s not the distance, it *s the pace, that kills. 



162 



MEDUSA 

Bound fast in tangled threads of golden hair, 
Drunk with the fiery vintage of her kiss, 
I drained a draught of death and thought it 
bliss, 

And all unheeding slept for many a year, 

A willing captive in a silken snare. 

And has that heaven turned to hell like this ? 
For now I hear the coiling serpents hiss. 

And in her eyes behold a threatening glare. 

I shudder as each lock of shining gold 

Changes to hideous life, and Vound me flings 
Its stifling circles, winding fold on fold. 

While in mine ears her mocking laughter 
rings ; 
I feel her freezing breath and viper fangs. 
For each forgotten kiss a thousand pangs. 

163 



THE UNKNOWN LOVE 

As IN the City of the Violet Crown 

An altar to the Unknown God was raised 
Midst shrines of beauty that a world amazed, 

And even now in crumbling grandeur frown ; 

For well the fine Hellenic hand could gown 
The stone with glory ; but while strangers 

praised 
The peerless piles, the Greek upon them 
gazed 

Unmoved by all their beauty and renown. 

For every sense was sated, and he yearned 
For more than soulless marble could contain. 
Then did his vague idolatry disown. 
So I on Passion's altars long have burned 
The incense of my soul ; but all in vain, — 
The love I dream of I have never known. 

164 



LONE MOUNTAIN 

Thou cross-crowned hill, to which I often turn, 
Although no dead of mine lie slumbering there, 

I watch the western skies behind thee burn. 
And my pale lips are parted with a prayer, 
Till resignation drives away despair. 

With tear-dimmed eyes I gaze and can discern 

The silent resting-place for which I yearn. 
And unto which with faltering feet I fare. 

When I shall rest beneath thee evermore. 

And cold, gray fogs drift o'er me from the deep. 
Perchance — who knows? — the voices of the 
sea. 
Rolling in deep-toned music from the shore. 
May not be all unheard in that last sleep. 
Murmuring a long, low slumber-song to me. 



165 



WEARY 

Not as a means of grace. 

And hope of glory, — no ! 
But could I see Thy face. 
And hear the blessing flow, 
As when Thy living lips the promise poured. 
Then would I kneel and wait for mercy, Lord. 

Ye weary, come to Me 

And I will give you rest. 
Have I not bent the knee 
And all my soul confessed ? 
Art Thou a myth, O God ? or am I blind, 
Groping in gloom for peace I cannot find ? 



i66 



WEARY 

Oh, shed one beam of light, 

And when my flesh is wrung 
Through agony's long night, 
When all my life is hung 
On Retrospection's cross, and when the spear 
Of Conscience strikes my soul, then be Thou near. 

Whisper one word of hope. 

That my faint heart may know 
How with these fears to cope, 
And respite gain from woe. 
Bind up my wounds and breathe the healing balm 
Of one kind word to comfort and to calm. 

Not for a heaven unearned. 

Nor to escape a hell. 
My lips have often burned 

To drink of Mercy's well ; 

Yearning in that sweet flood themselves to steep. 

And drift away from life in dreamless sleep. 

167 



PAIN 

Now IF this ink were blood, this pen a quill 

Torn from some fierce and flesh-fed vulture's 
wing, 
This sheet a shroud, and mine such matchless skill 

As his who o*er the deathless damned did fling 
A glory that the ages cannot pale, — 

Yea, were these mine, it might not then be vain 
To 'prison on this page an anguished wail 

Or torture-telling threnody of pain. 

But my sore, songless heart doth only groan 
Low grief-ground curses through my gnashing 
teeth. 
Familiar fiend of hell ! wherein have I 
Sinned more than others, that thou dost bequeath 
To me an agony that could atone 

For half a world and its salvation buy ? 

i68 



ASHES 

To BE carnally-minded is death 

To the spirit as well as the clay. 
Like a black, blighting frost is the breath 

Of the lusts that we love to obey ; 

How they lure us and lead us astray ! 
How they battle for body and soul ! 

How they riot by night and by day, 
And our passionate pulses control ! 

When the lights and the laughter and song, 

And the wine and the women of lust 
Teach the blood of our boyhood to long. 

Do we dream of the wild whirling gust ? 

Do we think that Life's apples are dust ? 
Do we dread the dark dregs in the wine ? 

No ! we barter Life's bread for a crust 
And a draught that is bitter as brine. 

169 



ASHES 

Recollection may call up the past, 

That comfortless mocker of ill, 
But it fades in the withering blast 

Of the whirlwind's heart-harrowing chill. 

For this, oh for this, do we till 
And bury the soul in the soil 

Of a past that the present doth kill. 
Of a future from which we recoil ! 



Though the flesh may be fed to the fire 

Until nothing but ashes remain. 
Yet the smouldering coals of desire, 

Still lingering, live in the brain. 

When the senses are silent or slain, 
By Remembrance they 're often cajoled,- 

Poor Fancy, that forges a chain 
Whose links but a skeleton hold ! 



170 



ASHES 

Can the lips that with eagerness drain 

The lust-leavened cup to the lees, — 
Can the soul with a sensual stain 

Ever know the redemption that frees ? 

Can Passion's extortionate fees, 
By the flesh-fettered profligate paid, 

The soul in its sorrowing ease, 
Or the body in agony aid ? 



171 



COMPENSATION 

Yea, though these trembling limbs should cease 
to bear 
The drooping body that they now uphold ; 
Though life's faint flame should flicker many a 
year. 
And keep this breathing corpse above the 
mould ; 
Though I should be of everything bereft, 

By friends forsaken, helpless and forlorn, 
Methinks as long as life itself were left 

All things but one could patiently be borne. 

I would not bid the lurking Spoiler stay 
His lifted hand if I should live to see 

Thy face at last in coldness turn away, 

Thy dear familiar lips grow strange to me ; 

For when with tender touch my own they greet 

Pain is not pain, and sorrow is most sweet. 

172 



TEARS 

Could I but crystallize these midnight tears 
And gather from their beaded bitterness 
A rosary for burning lips to press, 

Some pain-born token of these joyless years 

To teach the faith that saves, the hope that 
cheers ; 
Then would I bid these fountains of distress 
Flow fast and free, if their sad floods could 
bless 

Or murmur peace in some poor sufferer's ears. 

Have I not known, O God ! have I not felt 
The benediction of another's verse 

Steal o'er me in the dark and lonely hour? 
Hath it not made my stubborn heart to melt, 
And turned to prayer the deep rebellious curse. 
And soothed my soul to rest with wondrous 



power? 



173 



ATAXIA 

My world has shrunk at last to this small room. 

Where like a prisoner I must now remain ; 
I 'd rather be a captive in the gloom 

Of some damp dungeon, tearing at my chain, 
For then, perchance, my freedom I might 
gain. 
Ah God ! to think that I must languish here. 
Fettered by sickness and subdued by pain. 
To die a living death from year to year, 
Joy banished from my breast and Sorrow brood- 
ing there ! 

Yet these familiar walls do sometimes fade, — 
Then my faint eyes on fair horizons rest ; 

By Memory's distant lights I am betrayed. 
And Hope a moment flutters in my breast. 
Till I forget that I am all unblest. 

174 



ATAXIA 

My vagrant fancies wander far away, 

Fond faces hover near, dear lips are pressed, 
My stagnant pulses seem to leap and play 
Anew with youth's wild heat and half revive this 
clay. 



I often think how once these stumbling feet, 

That now can scarcely bear me to my bed. 
Were swift to follow, as the wind is fleet. 
The baleful beam that to destruction led ; 
Nor paused I till the luring light had fled, — 
Till on mine ears there broke the dismal roar 
Of that black stream whose waters wail the 
dead; 
Dumb with despair I stood, and from that 
shore 
Saw Charon's spectre craft and heard his doleful 
oar. 

^75 



ATAXIA 

Thou domineering power ! or love, or lust, 

Or passion, or whatever else thou art, 
How have thy crimson roses turned to dust 
And strown their withered leaves upon this 

heart ! 
Though through my vitals now thy venomed 
dart 
Strikes like an adder's sting, yet still I feel 

From Egypt's fleshpots it is hard to part ; 
And my weak, wandering glances often steal 
Back to sweet sinful things, until my senses reel. 

Sometimes at night around my bed there rise 
Fair, faithless loves who in the past were 
known ; 
But now I look on them with other eyes. 
The wanton witches I no longer own ; 
They come to mock me as they hear me 
moan. 

And float a cloud of taunting witnesses. 

176 



ATAXIA 

Yet were there some, whose arms around me 
thrown 
As in the olden days, with soft caress. 
Could make me half forget these hours of sharp 
distress. 

I do remind me now of one whose heart 

Hath leaped against mine own a thousand 

times. 

And though we did not find it hard to part. 

And years have passed, and now in different 

climes 

Our lives asunder lie ; yet could these 

rhymes 

Bring back that leman and those long-lost days, 

I 'd make their strains ascend where angel 

chimes 

Ring forth glad paeans of eternal praise, 

And from the dead, cold past that matchless 

minion raise. 

177 



ATAXIA 

Had Time but halted for us, as the sun 

Stood still on Gibeon while Joshua strove ! 
Ah no ; the silver moon of Ajalon 

Would have looked kindlier on those nights 
of love ! 

Little cared we for sun or moon above, 
Or for the gems upon the black-browed night ; 

We may have seen them through the 
heavens move. 
But recked not, thought not of their wheeling 

flight, 

Blinded, poor love-sick fools ! by Passion's daz- 
zling light. 

Oft in that light's fast-fading afterglow 
Her visioned presence unto me appears ; 

And as I first beheld her long ago. 

The same alluring loveliness she wears. 
Oft in the midnight silence fancy hears 

178 



ATAXIA 

A sweeter plaint than Pandion's daughter's 
strain. 
Murmur in kisses that beguile my fears, 
While in my dreams I clasp her form again. 
To wake, alas ! and weep to find the vision vain. 



She was but one of an ungodly throng 

Whose name was legion ; but among them all 

To her my best and brightest years belong. 
Though there were others whom I oft recall. 
Who wove their shining threads through this 
dark pall 

Long years ago in Passion*s panting loom, 
Before Life*s honeyed cup had turned to 

gall, 
Or yet the day had deepened to the gloom 
That wraps me like a shroud within this living 
tomb. 

179 



ATAXIA 

O Marah ! Marah ! as thy bitter stream 

Was turned to sweetness by the magic tree. 
So the dark current of my years doth seem 
To flow at times in murmuring melody. 
'Tis when, dear Lyric Maid, I turn to 
thee, — 
Then the light laughing loves of other days 
Hide their false faces or like shadows flee. 
Oft had I fallen in these cheerless ways. 
But heard the whispered words that comfort and 
upraise. 

Now though these limbs are cold and almost 
dead 
And torture runs through every sluggish 
vein, 
Yet is endurance out of sufi^ering bred 
And fortitude to triumph over pain. 
The wasted body shrinks, but still the brain 

i8o 



ATAXIA 

Urges the palsied hand along the sheet, 

On which, alas ! tears often fall like rain ; 
But Fancy even Misery can cheat. 
And in the pain-born rhyme will find a refuge 
sweet. 

But even there the Spoiler with his scythe 
Torments the withered sheaf he waits to 
reap ; 
His torturing reminders make me writhe. 
Till, mad with pain, I beg the final sweep 
That surely soon must come to give me 
sleep. 
Still one retreat is left, to which I flee, — 
Dear dreamy draught, in which I often 
steep 
Body and soul ! I turn again to thee. 
And drift down Lethe's stream out on Oblivion's 
sea. 

i8i 



CONSOLATION 

A SOB of sorrow sounding through the strings 

As Recollection ponders on the past, — 
Is this the only solace Memory brings 

To soothe a soul that shivers in the blast ? 

How soon the feast was followed by the fast ! 
How quick the fruits and flowers turned to dust ! 

How swift the waters sped on which I cast 
The bread of life, that cometh back a crust ! 

A crust ! Ah no ! though barren is the shore 

Of Life's once tempting tide, — whose waters 

hold 

The dreams of youth that in their depths 

were drowned, — 

Not fruitless is the flood ; its waves restore 

What Folly flung to them a thousand-fold 

When on the strand some pearl of song is 

found. 

182 



OUT OF EGYPT 

Hope of the helpless ! Comforter of those 

Whose world is walled within the sick man's 
room ! 

Lord God of Love and Mercy ! unto whom 
Pale prisoners of pain come with their woes ; 
I thank Thee for the cheering light that throws 

Its blessed beam at last across the gloom, — 
A cloud by day, a fire by night, it glows, 

Hope's pilot pillars that my path illume. 

Oh, if it be Thy will that I should make 
My way from out the durance of despair. 
Though to full strength I never may attain. 
Yea, even though these links I may not break, 
Let me remember still in grateful prayer 
The Love that for a season loosed the 
chain. 



183 



THE LOOM 

A WEARIED weaver at the loom, I gaze 

On that which I have woven till mine eyes 
Grow dim to see the fabric it displays ; 

The warp of all my work seems woofed with 
sighs. 

No more for me Life's shuttle swiftly flies. 
But falters feebly through the fibred maze 

As thread on thread it slowly multiplies. 
Weaving, alas ! a weft of dreary days. 

For in the woven meshes there appears 

The sombre shade of sorrow. Do I weave 
But sackcloth for my soul ? And am I now 
But one who gloats upon the garb he wears, — 
Who in the shadow sits apart to grieve. 
The ashes of his life upon his brow ? 

184 



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